


Two's Company

by cowboykylux



Series: Blue Moon 'Verse [2]
Category: Burn This - Wilson
Genre: 1980s, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue Moon Universe, Cunnilingus, Domestic Bliss, Drug Use, Edgeplay, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Multiple Orgasms, New York City, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Sequel, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2020-10-25 01:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20716004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboykylux/pseuds/cowboykylux
Summary: 1989 and New York City is a mess. Life was shit for all but you and Pale, who found that among the rubble and rubbish, there existed peace and calm and hard hot fucking.That is, until, an unwanted visitor makes themselves known, throwing this happy dream into a tumultuous nightmare.





	1. Something Special

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I truly hope you enjoy this new fic, it is my absolute pleasure to share it all with you :) Please feel free to yell about it down in the comments below, or over at my blog on tumblr, which you can find @babbushka ! xx

It had been a year.

Well, almost.

Almost one whole entire year since you came home from the diner to find a big broad man cursing at a mover’s truck across the street. You smiled at the thought that you only remembered wondering what the hell someone was moving in so late for, not paying any attention to the owner of the shiny black car or the penthouse it was parked outside of.

Sometimes, you couldn’t believe it, how things had changed, how nothing had changed at all.

You were still you, and Pale was still Pale. Just, it was one year later.

One year later, Pale still snored.

Loudly.

You were lying on your side in his bed, in his apartment, the very same one you stared into the windows of, so long ago. It was getting late in the morning, too late, late enough that he was going to be pissed he slept in that long, pissed that he didn’t wake himself up sooner.

He always was an early riser, your man. A worker, he called himself. You didn’t know anyone who worked harder than Pale.

The curtains were pulled so that light spilled into the room, and you were sure that Pale would have woken up along with the sunrise, but as it was, he was still snoring. You watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, and you thought about how endearing it was that even in sleep he had a little frown, even in sleep he grumbled and mumbled about things that bugged him. Not even the honking horns or the construction outside was enough to get him out of dream-land, despite it being late enough in the morning that the whole city had woken up by now, you were sure of it.

You rubbed the frown lines away from his forehead with soothing circles of your thumb, kissed his cheek sweetly to try and wake him up gently. You tried to rouse him for the fourth time with a soothing rub of your hand on his exposed bicep.

“Pale.” You whispered, eyeing the clock. He was gonna be _so _pissed, you thought with an amused smile.

That smile turned into a grin when a great big groan of annoyance spilled from his lips, when his brow pinched together again as he tried to block out the day.

“…No.” He grumbled, and you knew you had won.

You straddled his strong thighs, rubbed at his chest. His arms wound around you and pulled you down flush to meet his lips, but he frowned when he kissed you. What a grouch, you thought with a smile as you tried using your lips as bait to lure him off his pillow.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, it’s time to get up.” You said playfully, and Pale’s grip tightened on you, keeping you in place.

“No it fuckin’ ain’t, go back to sleep.” He mumbled, before abruptly rolling over in the great big bed of his and pinning you underneath him.

“Pale!” You laughed, startled as he let himself turn into nothing but dead weight that you tried to push against.

If he weren’t so fucking grouchy, you knew he’d be smiling.

“Can’t hear you, sorry.” He lied, voice thick and laced with sleep, that handsome baritone of his pressing into your throat where he shoved his whole face in an attempt to hide from the sun.

“It’s Saturday, you gotta go down to the concert hall today.” You reminded him, arms coming around to smooth against his hot back.

He always ran so hot, your man. One-hundred and ten degrees, he said.

“That ain’t until like ten o’clock.” He groaned, sucking needy marks against your skin where his lips rested.

“I know honey but it’s eight now.” You strained to check the clock once more, and the digital alarm clock blinked back at you.

Pale didn’t like the sound of that, if the way he bolted up was any indicator of things.

“What?” He snapped, suddenly very awake, “Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

You could only roll your eyes with a small smile as he swung his legs off the side of the bed, took three great big strides out the hall and went into the bathroom.

“It’s gonna take me a fucking hour to get all the way down there with this traffic and that leaves me practically no fuckin’ time to eat or do nothin’, christ (Y/N).” He bitched and whined, voice echoing down the hall.

“I’ve been tryin’ for half an hour now to get you up!” You explained, laying back down on the mattress with a little huff of a laugh as you heard the toilet and sink run one after the other. “You were the one who kept snoozin’.” You pointed out when he returned to the bedroom.

You had tucked your hands behind your head, the covers all rustled and pulled away from your naked body from when Pale had practically flung them off of himself.

He never did like the covers, too hot.

“Oh fuck me.” He groaned, scrubbed a hand down his face, stretched his muscles that had you ogling at how fucking good he looked in the dappled sunlight that came through the curtains.

“Okay, come here.” You said real cheeky, and he took one look at you and practically pounced.

You had thought, foolishly, that over time his appetite for you might have started to mellow out. You thought maybe he would have had his fill and gotten bored of it, tired of it, used to it. Hadn’t he once said that getting’ laid was just okay? Maybe you had imagined that part, maybe he had said it a long time ago but not to you. You didn’t know.

What you did know, was that you were wrong – and you normally didn’t like being wrong about things, but you didn’t mind being wrong about this. The way he kissed you, touched you, fucked you…jesus it was enough to wear a girl out. But you loved it, and he loved it, and you opened your legs for him happily, willingly, wanting him to take what he needed, what he wanted.

He only ever wanted you.

“Let me see that pretty pussy of mine, huh?” He licked across his teeth, yanking you down the bed by your ankles so he could pry your knees apart.

You grinned and made room for him to settle between your legs, and he wasted no time in sliding his hard cock right into you.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good, I missed this hot cunt.” He sighed, hips already thrusting like a man possessed.

He kept your pelvis pinned down against the mattress, held onto you tightly so he could chase his pleasure. You moaned and tipped your head back, nipples stiffening as they brushed against the skin of his chest.

“You fucked me last night.” You pointed out, making him grip your jaw and pry it open.

He shoved a couple fingers against your tongue, and you sucked, got them soaked with your spit. He spit into your mouth, added to the mix, fucked your throat with those big fingers, fucked your pussy with his even bigger cock. You were wet all over and squelching and Pale was addicted to it.

“Yeah, and? That was ten – oh _fuck_ yeah – fucking hours ago, might as well have been ten years ago. ‘Coulda been sooner but someone – shit (Y/N)! – _someone_ let me sleep in.” He smacked your stomach and watched as the flesh rippled for him when he did it, watched as you grinned and spit his fingers out.

“Hey! I – oh, _Pale_ – I didn’t do nothin’ you didn’t want. And a quickie – oh! – a quickie’s fine.” You assured him.

He liked taking his time with you, liked reducing you down to a tear-stained babbling mess, but there just wasn’t the time for it right now, not right now. And that was okay, you had plans for him tonight, plans that you couldn’t really reveal just yet.

“I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard anyway.” Pale rolled his eyes, let them slip closed as he got lost in his own pleasure for a while, hips grinding into you with all the same intensity and desperation as they had a year ago.

The headboard smacked against the wall, and it was all you could do but hold on for dear life, clench yourself around him to make it tighter, hotter, wetter, better for him. He groaned and grunted and brushed the head of his cock right against that spot that made you see stars every fucking time.

“Yeah, yes! Make me come, please?” You begged, kissed and sucked hickeys onto his neck with more little pleases, breathy little things that had him groaning, had his balls tightening up. 

“God what a whore you are, bet you’re gonna go the fuck back to sleep like this huh? My come sliding outta your tight cunt? You gonna lick it all up for breakfast you slut?” He gripped your jaw, bit down hard on your lip, so hard you were worried for a minute he would break the skin.

“Yeah I’m starving, fill me up.” You said, before suddenly your orgasm came out of nowhere, but maybe not nowhere, from the way he was pinching and fucking and pushing and pulling at you. Your eyes flew open with a surprised, “Pale!”

“Shit – oh shit.” He followed soon after, tweaking your nipple hard as he shot his come deep into you.

“Hmm.” You sighed happily, wiggling your hips a little underneath him as he breathed heavily on top of you, the both of you feeling his come filling you up to the brim, just like you asked. You were sure that once you stood up, it’d already start dripping out of you, run down your thigh, but you’d deal with that in a minute.

He always did have such a big fucking load, you thought with a smile. 

The two of you breathed together, heartbeats all in sync as the traffic blared on and on outside.

You had been spending more and more time in his apartment, so much that it was starting to become _your _apartment, the two of yous together. You had moved some of your stuff in, some clothes, toiletries, books and records and mementos. You still kept your apartment of course, but your lease was coming to an end soon, and you still hadn’t decided what you wanted to do about it.

Maybe you’d bring it up tonight, you figured, when you gave him his surprise.

Pale was unusually quiet against you as he came down from the high of his orgasm. He’d been working so fucking hard lately, between running the restaurant in the city – which had been doing so well that Fish was pissed he hadn’t thought of doing it sooner – and planning his next big symphony. Sometimes he didn’t come home until two or three in the morning, exhausted from a long day of yelling at schmucks.

He was going to have a long day today too, but hopefully it wouldn’t be so stressful. The thought of the symphony made you nudge him gently. He needed to get a fucking move-on with his day otherwise he’d be late, and he hated being late more than just about anything.

And that was really sayin’ something.

“Breakfast?” You asked, breaking the silence of the moment and he chuckled, nodded as he kissed your temple before pulling out. 

Pale was real fucking picky about his food and drink. If there was one thing he knew inside and out, it was how to make good food, and he hated when people fucked it up. A year ago, he wouldn’t dare let you touch the stove – not because you weren’t good, but because it was just so much easier if he did it all.

Now though, now you’ve been together long enough to know how he likes things, to know how to do it right, and you all but took over breakfast. He always did it all, and you thought he needed a fucking break, just one thing that he could have someone do for _him. _

He had been so hesitant at first, but now, now you could see the gratitude in his eyes at someone taking care of him for once.

Hadn’t you said that, ages ago? That you’d take care of him?

You smiled as you slid the full breakfast onto his plate a few minutes after the two of you rolled out of bed and cleaned up. Pale was dressed in one of his nice suits, one that wasn’t black for once. He wore a very handsome silver number, one that made his shoulders look extravagantly wide with all the padding. Underneath his jacket he had a crisp white button down and on his feet were his shiny black boots, and you had helped clasp the gold chain around his neck.

You were in your underwear, because of course you were, tits out and hair clipped up and your own gold chain glinting in the sunlight that came from the windows in the big kitchen. Pale was staring out one of those windows with a coffee mug in hand, shaking his head with disdain at the street below him.

“You know I’ve had it just about to here with this fucking construction going on, how long has that been happening? I swear it feels like it’s never gonna fucking end, can you believe that? What kind of a sewer of a city is this? You go to bed to fucking back-up trucks beep-beeping and you wake up to jackhammers. This ain’t no kinda paradise. I’d be pissed if I had to wake up to that every fucking morning for the rest of my life, how’s a guy supposed to get any fuckin’ sleep like that?” He bitched, angrily sipping his coffee.

“It’s for the bond money, you know.” You said matter-of-factly as you plated up a dish of your own, carrying both yours and his to the kitchen table and sitting on one of the nice chairs.

“How’s that?” He turned to face you, practically rushed to sit at the table with you.

He never sat across from you, always next to you. Whether it was a table that seated ten or two, he always dragged his chair around to be able to have you close to him.

Sometimes it all felt very domestic, being here, a game of pretend that you both liked to play.

“The bond money? The city will apply for money to fix the roads, except they know that once the road is fixed, the money runs out. So they delay the building of the road for long enough that by the time it’s basically finished, they gotta go re-pave over the whole fucking thing all over again because it’s been ten years and there’s potholes at the start.” You explained, and he had to hold his hands up in protest.

“Did you just say ten years?” He was already shaking his head.

“You bet.” You nodded sympathetically. You had been dealing with the never-ending construction your whole life, guessed it wasn’t like that back where he came from.

“Oh abso-fucking-lutely not. We’re moving outta this shithole, that’s it, I decided.” Pale grumbled, scarfed his breakfast down.

“Oh yeah, you decided?” You laughed, nudging his calf under the table with your foot playfully. “Where are we gonna go, Jersey?”

“Don’t be a brat.” He pointed his fork in your direction, bit off a big bite of his eggs.

“Me?” You asked with wide eyes, pointing to yourself with mock innocence.

“Yeah you.” He grumbled and you laughed, shook your head at him and ate your breakfast.

He couldn’t help but let the smallest smile slip out, but buried it with his own breakfast, practically scraping the plate clean, careful not to get any syrup from the French toast on his suit.

“Hey, look at me?” He asked, once he was done, and without thinking you turned your head, only to be captured up in a kiss.

He did this sometimes, just kissed you like this, hands wandering around to your tits and giving them a nice light squeeze. He licked into your mouth slow and deep, and you could feel his eyelashes tickle your cheek from where they brushed against your face, the two of you so so close.

In moments like those, you remembered all of the pain and anguish he had been through in the past year, the riot in his chest caused by the sudden death of his brother slowly but surely settling down into a longing ache that everyone who has grieved will know.

You kissed him back just as deeply, broke apart only when the clock chimed nine, when he absolutely had to leave.

“Have a good day, okay?” You whispered against his lips, and he nodded, stole one more chaste kiss before getting up and putting his dishes in the sink.

“You too.” He said, downing the last of his coffee, and grabbing his keys from the small hook on the door. 

“Oh, Pale?” You asked, you suddenly remembered you needed to get something, and whipped around quickly trying to catch him before he ran out the door.

“Yeah dollface?” He hung in the doorway a little, always hanging on your every word, much as he pretended he didn’t.

“I was hoping to do a little shopping today, if that’s okay?” You asked, real shy.

You didn’t like asking for money, in fact you never did. The whole time you’d been together the most you ever had asked for was a nickle for the jukebox once. But you were out of cash and didn’t get paid until next Friday, and you really wanted to make tonight special for him. For the both of you.

“Okay? It’s more than fucking okay, Jesus Christ I thought you’d never ask! You know you really oughta let me get you a whole new fucking wardrobe, I tell ya some of your clothes I’m just sick to fucking death of seeing you in. You need nice shit, real nice comfortable shit I’m not sayin’ all of it has to be sexy or nothing – although don’t get me wrong I ain’t gonna oppose to sexy. Where are you gonna go? Actually you know what, don’t tell me, I’ll guess when I come back home. How much do ya want?” He got so excited at the thought of spending money on you, it made you blush.

You just held up your fingers about half an inch apart, knowing he dealt out cash in stacks. He was so good at it, between the drugs and the booze and the backdoor restaurant deals and everything else, that he knew exactly how much was in each of the stacks he split off.

He unrolled a big thick wad of cash and handed it to you, leaning down for a kiss in exchange, a payment you were more than happy to give.

“Thank you.” You smiled, batting your eyelashes at him.

In fact, you thought he deserved more of a payment than just a thank you, so you slowly sank to your knees, right there in the doorway, right where anyone walking by could see.

He was in the penthouse, so there was nobody, but still, the thought made him groan with pleasure as you worked his pants open.

“Ohhhkay, okay now, c’mon you’re gonna make me late.” He tsked, hand tangling in your hair gently as you pulled his cock out, stroked it in your soft hands until it grew hard and hot.

“Come down my throat?” You asked sweetly, little kitten licks at the head where pre-come was already starting to leak.

And he did, oh he did.

Pale shut the door behind him, and tugged at your hair enough to get you to take him all the way, your eyes closed, focused on your breathing. He was so big, obscenely big, and you were still working on being able to deep-throat him right away. You got close, so close, your nose pressed right against his public hair that curled around and around, dark happy trail that you scratched at with your nails, other hand curling around his thigh to steady yourself.

“You look so fucking good on your knees, perfect whore.” He grunted, grip in your hair too tight, not giving you room to breathe or do much of anything other than let yourself be used. “My best girl, god this fuckin’ mouth is the best.”

He shoved himself down further, making you choke and gag, but he fucked your throat through it, made tears prick at the corner of your eyes in mild panic just from the sudden intensity of it all. The tile was cold on your shins, and you could feel yourself growing wet, couldn’t tell if it was his come making its way out of you or if it was your own slick. Either way, you could feel it starting to soak through your underwear, knew it would soon make a sticky puddle on the floor.

He came down your throat just like you asked, but pulled out while it was still shooting from the swollen red tip of his cock. He painted it all over your face, hot come clinging to your cheek and chin, even more splattering onto your tits.

Some still drooled and dripped onto the floor.

A drop got on his shoes, those lizard skin ones he was wearing to death now that he finally broke them in, and you sucked in a breath. He didn’t like his shoes getting dirty.

“Clean up.” He said, releasing his grip on your hair, your scalp tingling as you didn’t hesitate to smear the come off your cheek with the back of your hand, sucking it off your knuckles with loud wet pops.

You bent down to lick off the drop that had fallen onto his otherwise pristine boots, laved your tongue over the shiny leather. Was it leather if it was lizard skin? You didn’t care, you licked and sucked until you could see your reflection, until Pale nudged your cheek with the toe of it.

He struck up a cigarette, breathed in the nicotine deeply as he tucked himself away, checking his watch. He really would be late now, you thought with very little regret. You smiled up at him, and he tapped the floor, tapped the puddle of all your slick and spit and sweat and his come. You knew what he meant, and you licked that up too.

You weren’t worried, the floors were more than clean enough to eat off of.

“Gimmie a kiss.” He said once you were done. 

You were more than happy to oblige, taking the cigarette out of his mouth for a moment to smooch him right on the lips, before putting it back between those crooked teeth you adored so dearly.

“Don’t stay out too long okay?” You asked, knowing full well he’d be out as long as it took, but still. You liked him home with you.

“No fuckin’ promises.” He said, in that way of his that meant he’d try.

He didn’t have to say it, you already knew.

With a little wave, you ushered him out the door, closing and locking it behind him.

You only got a couple feet from the front door when the phone rang, and you cursed your bad luck.

Pale had been waiting on a call for a couple days now from a potential commissioner, and go fucking figures that the second your man walks out the door, they would call.

You quickly pick the phone up, already reaching for a pad and pen to write down who called and when, but when you answered, there was nearly silence on the other line.

“Hello?” You asked, not unkindly in the least. The last thing you wanted to do was piss off whoever it was that might’ve been calling.

“Is Jim there?” A woman asked, throwing you for a moment. You didn’t think that the commissioner would have his secretary call, but you shrugged, thinking it was for the better since Pale wasn’t there anyway.

“No I’m afraid he just left, can I ..take …a message?” You frowned at how the line went dead right after you had told the woman no. That wasn’t the commissioner’s secretary, you decided, no one would be that rude when they were trying to work with someone. “Huh.”

You couldn’t help but stare at the phone for a little while, wondering if the line got disconnected. But no, it sounded very much like someone hung up on you, so that’s all you wrote on the little pad of paper, not wanting it to be forgotten.

When the phone didn’t ring again, you shrugged, and went into the bathroom to rinse off and get presentable for the day. You and Pale had showered together earlier, but you figured what the hell, a second rinse could do you good.

You paid special attention to between your legs, making sure to fully wash away all the come and slick and sweat that was cooling and starting to itch. Pale used this really fancy bodywash that you always used, you liked the way it smelled and you liked the way it made you smell _like him. _

For how much you loved your leaky shitty clawfoot bathtub, there was something so luxurious about the rain showerhead in Pale’s bathroom. It made you feel like you were some sexy thing in a commercial, and it bummed you out that Pale didn’t get to see it. The water trickled down your body, carrying away the soapy sudsy mess of the morning along with it, and you watched as it swirled down the drain.

Almost one whole year, you thought. Ain’t that something?

You shut the shower off once you were all squeaky clean, slipped into the soft robe Pale bought you ages ago, and decided on what to wear.

It was cold again in New York, starting to border on freezing. November was a good month, you thought, a real good month. But it was a cold one, and you weren’t about to go wandering Manhattan in your robe, so you dried your hair and bundled up in some warm comfortable things that Pale had gotten you on a whim. He did that a lot, bought you things he thought you might like, bought things he liked to see you in.

You thought that for the one year, you might treat him to a special sight, wear something you knew he was sure to love. Fifth Avenue was only a half hour train ride away, and you knew the short trip would be worth it to see the look on Pale’s face later that evening.

You grabbed your key, engraved with your name and his on it like the sentimental bastard Pale was deep down inside, and locked up the penthouse, all wrapped up in your coat and scarf. The elevator ride was short and sweet and to the point, and you smiled at the woman who excused herself to squeeze past you in the doorway.

It took a little while, but while you were sitting on the subway heading into the city, you didn’t think that you had ever recognized that woman before. She certainly didn’t live in the apartment complex, otherwise you would have seen her. You resigned to ask Pale about it later, instead content to just look out the window and watch the city zip by as excitement buzzed in your veins at the thought of your great surprise.

You wanted nothing more than to show your love for this man, your man, your Pale.

You were gonna do it, and you were gonna do it right.


	2. Barbie

It smelled like shit, he thought with a frown. It smelled like stale beer and cigarettes, not that he wasn’t adding to that mix, but still.

Pale was annoyed, tappin’ his fuckin’ foot as he held onto the handrail on the subway as he waited and waited for it to arrive at his stop. He had no problem getting to Grand Central, but for whatever fuckin’ reason there was traffic or something because the short ride from there to the Lincoln Center was takin’ ages.

The subway was packed, because of course it was, nine-thirty rush hour. He had half a mind to stop off somewhere and just walk the rest of the fuckin’ way, but he didn’t want his face to catch frostbite or nothin’.

He was mindin’ his own business, lookin’ around the place when he saw something familiar, a little scribble on the wall, just next to the window he was leanin’ against. He could barely make it out amidst all the other graffiti on the train, but he recognized your handwriting anywhere.

There it was, a little faded maybe, a little worn away, but there it was: a heart with the two of your initials written in black sharpie.

It was partially covered up by another person’s vandalism, and that irritated Pale, ticked him off. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small metallic silver paint marker.

“’Scuze me a sec,” He shuffled through the crowd to the window, pushed his way past people who were all crammed in like sardines, no one really payin’ him much attention.

As carefully as he could, he traced your little heart, traced the V.S.O.P and the (Y/Initials), put the cap back on it.

An old woman sitting down smiled up at him, and he gave her a nod back, content to just hold onto the fuckin’ handrail and think about all the bullshit he’s gotta deal with later, with the orchestra, with the restaurant, all the while trying his very best not to get jostled around. He was aware of how big a guy he was, didn’t want to go toppling over onto nobody.

“You know,” The old woman said, accent thick and Greek, capturing his attention once more, making him turn his gaze towards her, “They say dating’s impossible in New York City.”

He shrugged, smoked his cigarette.

“They ain’t wrong.” He said, thinking about all the bullshit that had happened when he first stepped foot into the city, all that time ago.

In a loft in Manhattan, with a dancer and her ghosts. That hadn’t worked out, not for maybe a month, but he found he didn’t mind all too much. He was bitter about it, but then again Pale was bitter about a lot of shit.

“What’d you call that then?” The old woman asked, gesturing to the drying paint on the wall, the small declaration he had only just reinforced.

He looked down at his boots, at the shiny leather you had cleaned up with your tongue, thought about the way his heart got all fuckin’ flippy and fluttery whenever he saw you smile real wide for him, beam up at him.

“Love,” He said, as the subway came to a rolling stop, as the doors hissed open and he flicked his cigarette onto the tracks below, “That’s love.”

* * *

It was a feat of architecture, that was for fuckin’ sure, Pale thought whenever he walked up to the Lincoln Center. In another life, if he hadn’t gone the artsy route, he thinks he woulda liked being an architect. Being someone who plans shit, builds shit.

Nah, then again, he thinks, he didn’t like math too much, heard there was a lot of fuckin’ math in architecture. Knowing his luck, he’d be doing some calculations that would have the fuckin thing toppling over. With his luck, he’d be stuck doing construction that lasted for ten years just to siphon bond money away from the city. With his luck, he’d be sued for something, he just knew it. Better leave that to the architects then, he thought.

But still, there was no fuckin’ doubting that the building was gorgeous, even Pale could appreciate that. A strong rectangular building with huge swooping arches carved into the front of it, something grand and imposing, something worthy of the art of performance.

He liked the way it was all lit up at night, but during the daytime it was okay too.

He walked around the fountain, huge white foaming frothing water that Pale always had half a mind to jump right into, walked through the pigeons who didn’t give a shit, kicked a can along the way as he went up the couple steps.

He’d like to take you here again, he thought, as he opened the heavy door and hit boots clacked against the shined polished floors. He’d like to get you all gussied up, have you on his arm as he walks in with a penguin suit on and his hair combed back, like he’s playin’ some fucking game, playing pretend.

It never felt like pretend when he was with you.

He chain smoked his way through the hall, passing the huge glass windows of the lobby of Alice Tully, where he knew his orchestra was waiting for him.

Sure e-fuckin-nough, when he opened the door to the actual concert hall, there was a great sigh of relief, some kid named Nicky who had been assigned as Pale’s assistant running right up to him.

“Pale! We thought you’d been hit by a taxi or some shit.” The kid said, all huffin’ and puffin’ and holding a clipboard on it like he was some official big shot and not just some college kid on an unpaid internship.

Pale stubbed out the cigarette and cracked the joints in his neck, in his hands.

“Yeah yeah, I know, I’m sorry, it ain’t gonna happen again.” HE gave a half-hearted apology, checking his watch, holding it up to his face to see the time. The fuckin’ thing was smudged, fogged up from how warm it was inside in comparison to the cold of November morning. “How late am I?”

“Fifteen minutes, the orchestra’s been waitin’ for you, they’re all warmed up already.” Nicky said straight away, like he had been counting. Who knows, maybe he had.

“Shit, alright alright well I’m fuckin’ here now, okay?” Pale said, running a hand through his hair as he descended the steps of the theater, made his way up to the stage. “Nobody died or nothing.”

Nicky chuckled at that, before he stopped Pale abruptly.

“A call came in for you, some woman.” Nicky said suddenly, like he had just remembered, and Pale frowned.

“Woman?” He asked, mind immediately racing – was it you? Had something happened? Were you okay? He shouldn’t have left he shouldn’t have let you go to the stores by yourself, not a pretty thing like you, not all alone. 

“Yeah, but she hung up when I asked who was callin’.” Nicky said, making Pale frown for a different reason.

“She didn’t give no name or nothin’?” He asked, and huh, well that wasn’t like you at all.

“Nope, just asked for Jim.” Nicky replied, and yeah no, no fuckin’ way was that you.

You hadn’t called him Jim, since that night you put him back together, all that time ago. No one really called him Jim, unless it was business people. That musta been it, he thought rolling his eyes, some secretary or some shit like that, trying to get a hold of him.

“If she calls again let me know, alright?” Pale asks, climbing the steps of the stage and assuming his position at the piano.

“Sure thing sir.” The kid gave a sharp nod and scurried off into the velvet seats, scribbling away on the clipboard.

* * *

Pale didn’t like conducting. Fucking hated it, actually. Hated the way he could never figure out what the fuck that little baton was doing. He knew somewhere in the back of his head that it was keeping time or something like that, knew that it was for the rhythm or tempo or some shit, but he didn’t give a fuck. He knew technically technically technically he was supposed to follow the composer, but in this case, with his symphony, it was the conductor who was following Pale.

They were working on the sonata today, something extra special Pale had written up just for you.

The whole fucking thing was for you, of course it was, it always was.

But the sonata, now that was something Pale had spent hours and hours, days pouring his heart and fucking soul into. He hadn’t let you hear a single note of it, wanted to surprise you, wanted to make it grand and epic – even though he hated that word.

He played his part in it with passion, with ferocity, fingers dancing across the keyboard, pressing deep and hard, as if it were the expanse of your body and not ivory.

It was intense, it was powerful, it was entirely altogether far too intimate, but none of these other fuckin’ jokers could tell, could know what it meant – how it was the way you gasped and writhed underneath him, how it was the way you moaned sharp and loud, how it was the smack of the fucking headboard against the wall, the scraping of a table on the floors as he fucked you hard hard hard.

It was a full thirty fucking minutes long, the sonata, a full half hour of him sweating his balls off at the piano bench, of his hair clinging to his face, of his hands cramping and his back aching but it was so fucking worth it because when the music stops, when the last notes have hung in the air and have been given their chance, when there is nothing but silence and the orchestra is enchanted, enthralled, when they burst into applause, it’s worth it.

And then the applause is over because really this is just practice, this is just rehearsal, and he needs to practice more because there are notes he missed, he knows there are, keys he hit wrong and tempos he needs to keep steady.

But the conductor, some young guy fresh out of Julliard, gives them all a big grin when he stands.

“Okay, that was good, really good you guys! Let’s take a lunch break and we’ll meet back here, okay?” The conductor says, and everyone breaks out into chatter. He had a funny way of starting and ending him sentences the same way, had a funny way of doing just about everything, Pale thought.

But he didn’t give a shit, it wasn’t like he listened to the kid at all anyway.

He was just wiping his brow with the small handkerchief he kept in his pocket when Nicky ran over from the sidelines.

“Pale! Call for you.” He said, making Pale’s eyebrows shoot up.

“From her?” He demanded, already collecting his shit and storming over to the wing where Nicky had the receiver pressed against his chest.

“Nah, man named Fischel.” He said, and Pale sighed – he couldn’t tell if it was from relief or something else, but he nodded.

“Okay let me have it.” He said, reaching his hand out for the phone. Nicky gave him the whole thing, and Pale walked around with it, tucking the phone in between his cheek and shoulder so he could light up a cigarette. “Fish! How are you?”

“I’m doin’ real good Pale, real good. How about you?” Your boss had become his business partner, and the two had struck up somewhat of a friendly relationship.

Pale didn’t have many of those, none at all that didn’t involve some kinda back door bullshit. It was nice, even if the man was really fuckin’ old and maybe not his first choice of company.

“I’m alright, just in the middle of some concerto shit. What can I help ya with?” Pale asked, wondering if something was going on with the restaurant.

Pale’s schedule was pretty fuckin’ booked, between managing the restaurant in the city and working on the symphony at the concert hall. He’d spend a decent ten hours workin’ in the diner and then hop over to the Lincoln Center to do some practicin’ before he fucked off to go be with you.

Saturdays he went in for the whole day and Sundays he gave himself off. You took Sundays off too now, so the two of yous could always count on spending the day together.

Pale worried for just a fuckin’ second that of course one of the two days he doesn’t show up to the restaurant, some shit goes down, but with the way Fish was chuckling, Pale didn’t think so.

“I was just callin’ to check on you and (Y/N), see how you were doin’.” Fish said, soundin’ a little, just a tiny bit, accusatory. 

“Oh we’re real good, thanks – why did she say somethin’?” Pale asked, sucked in a big deep drag of his cigarette, mind racing racing racing.

“Nah, I’m just happy for you guys, wanted to make sure you were still good.” Fish said, “Good to know you’re good.”

None of that sounded convincing, none of it at all. It made Pale’s heart beat too fast, like he was gonna fuckin’ stroke out or something, like he was gonna have a heart attack.

“Okay Fish what’s really on your mind?” He asked, wanting to cut right to the chase.

“Why do I gotta have somethin’ on my mind?” Fish asked, defensive, which basically gave him the fuck away. Pale stayed silent on the phone for a minute or two, enough time for Fish to sigh and say real low, “Someone’s been callin’ after you.”

Oh jesus, he thought to himself, knowing exactly how that might look.

“A woman?” Pale asked, already feeling the beginning of a headache coming on despite smoking. He wondered if sticking a second one in his mouth would make him feel any better.

“Yeah.” Fish said, suspicious.

“Lemme guess, didn’t leave a name? Hung up as soon as you asked?” Pale grit his teeth when Fish hummed in mild surprise.

“Yeah, you know anything about that?” He asked, trying to play it cool, but that only pissed Pale off some more.

“Listen, if you think I’m cheatin’ on her, on (Y/N), don’t – that ain’t what’s goin’ on. Someone’s been blowin’ up all the fucking phones lookin’ for me but I don’t know who, they just keep callin’ and hangin’ up. I don’t know why, but it ain’t some side-chick or nothin’.” Pale said, maybe said a little too loud, maybe said it a little too angry.

“You sure?” Fish asked, ever the skeptic, and Pale wanted to throw something.

“Yeah I’m fuckin’ sure and as a matter of fuckin’ fact, I’m getting real fuckin’ irritated by this broad.” He snapped, and something in his voice must have signaled that he was telling the truth because he could hear Fish sigh on the other end of the line and suck his teeth in thought.

“Alright. I trust you. But you better find this girl and get her under control before (Y/N) thinks somethin’ fucked up is goin’ on, you know what I’m sayin’? I don’t want her breakin’ her heart over an assumption.” Fish said, and Pale calmed down, tried to calm down anyway, because he only cared about you.

“Listen the next time she calls, _if_ she calls, pretend to be me for just long enough to get her name, okay? (Y/N) ain’t workin’ today, she’s out shopping – ” He said, making Fish exclaim in shock.

“She’s shopping?” He asked, and Pale had to laugh at that; you were notoriously stubborn when it came to Pale treating you to nice shit.

“Yeah, finally got her to take some cash and go out for once.” Pale said, scrubbing a hand down his face, smoking the last of the cigarette, wondering if he could steal enough time for a second one.

“Good for her.” Fish said, and Pale nodded, even though there was no way he could see it.

“Anyway she ain’t gonna be at work so the phone shouldn’t be a problem, I doubt this chick has my home phone number, whoever the fuck she is. But if she calls you again just pretend to be me and let me know who this stalker is, would ya?” Pale asked, and Fish hummed to himself for a while.

“I ain’t got your tone of voice but I can give it my best shot – oh I know I’ll have one of the line cooks say somethin’, he’s got a deper voice than me.” The old man said, and Pale made a mental check to buy him and his wife some flowers or something, just for being good people.

“Alright, thanks Fish. Sorry about all this, I promise ya I ain’t fuckin’ around, (Y/N)’s my one and only.” Pale said, finding that there had never been more truth in a statement than the one he just gave.

Fish had a smile in his voice when he said,

“She god damn well better be, or else they’ll be fishin’ you outta the fuckin’ river.”

“Don’t blame ya. Listen I gotta go, but give me a call if you hear anything else, okay?” Pale laughed, relieved to hear the old man chuckling on the other line.

“No problem, talk to you later.” Fish said, before hanging up.

The next three hours whizzed by thanks to the help of the music and some blow.

He found he always worked best, always performed best when he was high off his ass, when he could practically see the fucking notes as they flew from his fingertips, sweating hands slipping and sliding off the keys. They plowed through the symphony, the violins and the brass and the woodwinds all melting together with the piano all cohesive, and Pale felt crazy, felt like he was soaring, like he could never do anything wrong.

At the end of the day, when everyone was out of breath and their hands all hurt and the sun had dipped down below the city skyline, and Pale’s high was beginning to crash and burn into something making him grouchy, making him exhausted, he closed the piano with a bit of a bang.

“Alright, I’m callin’ it for today. Anyone got any concerns or anything?” He asked, and no one spoke up which for once was a fuckin’ miracle. Usually somebody, anybody, everybody had something they wanted to fuckin’ say.

Maybe they thought Pale was in a bad enough mood to not want to tempt him, and he was glad for their foresight.

“See you guys in a week then, keep practicing, we’re gonna be great.” He assured everyone, because they needed assurance – it was a young orchestra, or at least filled with a lot of young new musicians. They needed reward to all the hard work, and Pale didn’t mind giving it to them if it meant they played better.

Pale gave a nod to everyone, and they all erupted into casual chatter amongst themselves, the different sections of the orchestra splitting off into their own groups for dinner and drink plans. Pale was starvin’, but he would wait until he ate with you to get his fill.

He wondered what you did today, had half a mind to call the house and ask you, but between everything he was gettin’ real fuckin’ sick of phone calls. He knew you’d be home for him when he walked through the door, knew you’d be waitin’ and wantin’ for him, knew you’d be eager to tell you everything.

He didn’t like the thought of you going out shopping all by yourself, paranoid that somethin’ might happen to you, but you were a big girl, a tough girl, you could handle yourself.

Still, as he walked to the bathroom he kept thinkin’ of ya, kept wondering.

The concert hall was somethin’ of a magical place, and on the walk to the men’s room, he thought about what you might think of it. What you might think of the sound of harmonic violins and low thrum of timpanies. He wondered if you’d like to listen to the swell of the orchestra as they all tuned up – that was his favorite part anyway, the tuning.

One section at a time, all matching intonation, all blending their sound. You liked the classical music he kept in his apartment well enough, you had loved the symphony he brought you to, all that time ago. Maybe the next time he had to come into the theater, if you were free maybe you’d come with him.

You were his good luck charm after all.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully, and Pale smoked his cigarette as he pissed into the urinal, as he scrubbed his hands with bar soap. He didn’t trust the liquid shit, didn’t trust hand sanitizer. Nah, he only liked good ol’ fuckin’ fashioned lye and oil bar soap. He watched as his ash flicked into the sink, watched as it was washed away with the suds and bubbles.

He looked at his hands – did they always look like this? He studied them for a minute, the manicured fingernails, the scarred knuckles from too many back alley fights. The ones from where he fuckin’ deck Marty’s face so hard he nearly broke the kid in two made him smile, just a little bit, because he was proud of those, but he was proud of little else.

He sighed and rinsed his hands off, studied his face in the mirror. Fuck, he looked like his father, he thought. When the hell did that happen.

He had a fleeting thought that maybe one day, his son would have the same thought, and he grimaced – that was, until he noticed a slight silver strand near his temple and he damn near inhaled the whole fuckin’ cigarette in a moment of shock.

He shoved his face up right to the mirror, goin’ damn near cross-eyed to see the fuckin’ grey hair, single grey hair wisping down with the rest of his locks.

Without thinking, he ripped it out of his head, heart racing.

He didn’t have time for this, he thought, didn’t have time to be spiraling now. He stubbed out the cigarette and lit up a fresh one, chain smoked his way out of the bathroom and down the hall to the main doors where he could get the fuck out of the concert hall and head back home to you.

He only got so fuckin’ far though, when Nicky stopped him in the hallway with a wave, hand clasped over the receiver of a telephone with a long ass cord, cord pulled tight.

“Pale!” Nicky whisper-yelled, pointing to the phone with urgency, “It’s her.”

Pale’s jaw clenched, and he stormed over to Nicky and grabbed the phone, harshly shoving it up under his ear as he smoked.

“Yeah hello?” He asked, angry, because why the fuck wouldn’t this chick leave him alone, “Hello? Who the fuck is this?” He demanded, and maybe that was the wrong way to go about this, maybe he should be polite to get some fuckin’ answers, but his mind was torn between like five fuckin’ different directions and he was just pissed.

There was silence on the other line, but if Pale listened real carefully, he could almost make out breathing. He didn’t recognize it, and it sure as shit wasn’t you – wasn’t anyone that he knew, otherwise they woulda just come out and say something already – and his already low patience was growing ever thinner.

“Why don’t you just say what the fuck you want from me, huh? What do you want?” He snapped, voice starting to raise, starting to yell.

He didn’t want to lose his temper but he was definitely fucking starting to yell.

“Alright you know I’ve had about enough of your little fuckin’ games. Stop fuckin’ callin’ me, whoever you are, you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t know who you are, I don’t fuckin’ care. You call this number again and you’re gonna wish you never fuckin’ picked up the phone in the first fuckin’ place, you got that?” he spit, acid in his voice, face going red.

People stopped in the hallway to look at him, to stare, and they kept walking, not wanting to bother him, not wanting to get in his way.

“I – ” The voice finally said, but Pale didn’t give a shit anymore, he missed you, wanted you, not to be on the phone with some girl.

So he slammed the phone down and hung up, hoping that whoever it was on the other line could feel the ring in their ear from the force of it.

* * *

His ride back to the apartment had him all fucking aggravated. If he had been annoyed with the subway that morning, he was downright pissed off. The phone call didn’t sit right with him – he hated people trying to get a hold of him. Hated people leaving messages but hated when they just didn’t say what they wanted even more. He didn’t like feeling like he was being hunted down or something, didn’t like that it was makin’ him look suspicious, like he was sneaking around behind your back.

He wasn’t, lord knows he wasn’t. And of all the fuckin’ things too, all the fucking timing in the world, it had to be today.

Christ, he thought to himself, another year older, another year wiser – wasn’t that the fuckin’ phrase? He didn’t feel too wise, but he sure as shit felt old. Especially with the grey fuckin’ hair he ripped outta his head.

“Bullshit.” He muttered, as the elevator doors slide open, “It’s nothin’ but bullshit. I work too god damned hard all the god damned time to be dealin’ with this.” He knew he was talkin’ to himself, but he didn’t care, he’d be with you soon.

He punched the buttons with maybe too much force, reached into the pocket of his leather jacket maybe too quickly, too eagerly, and pulled out the small vial of coke he kept stashed on him. Not enough to do much but give him a real good buzz, and fuck knows he needed one, needed somethin’.

He tipped it onto the back of his hand, snorted it right up, real easy, licked up whatever might be left and stuffs the tiny thing back into his pocket, waiting and watching as the numbers go up up up, and he starts to feel better.

He doesn’t like comin’ home to you in a bad mood, see? Doesn’t like walkin’ through the front door with a frown on his face, not to you. You didn’t deserve none of that, none of the bullshit.

But he does walk through the front door, and he does frown, because he’s confused – thinks he’s hallucinatin’, because since when the fuck are there flower petals all over the floor?

“(Y/N)?” He called out, starting to feel like he’s on top of the world, starting to feel like king of it all. He wanted to bury his face in your tits and make you come on his tongue, wants to come all over you, make you sloppy.

Fuck there was little that he loved more than making you sloppy.

“In here.” You called back from deep in the apartment and fuck, you sounded so good, your voice music to his ears, music and melodic and all the good fuckin’ things Pale’s brain can’t come up with right now because all he can think of is you.

His feet carried him to the bedroom, follows the rose petals to where it’s nice and dark, real dark, the window open a bit to let the cold air of autumn blow in, and there you are on the bed, candles lit all around you like he summoned you straight from his own personal hell.

If this is hell, he thinks, let him be damned.

“Fuck sweetheart you’re gonna kill me,” He groaned, his pants suddenly so tight, too tight, as you sit up on your knees on the bed, wrapped up in the prettiest fuckin’ lingerie Pale had ever seen. “You look too good, you leave the fuckin’ house like this? You leave the house lookin’ like this, like a perfect fuckin’ whore? Where’d you get this huh? Gotta go give them a thank you note, gotta get my hands on you holy shit look at your tits.” He rambles on and on, already shucking his jacket, already tossing it to the floor.

Your body is hidden behind black lace, but it’s not really hidden, not at all.

He feels a thousand miles high, and he grabbed at you, but you just grinned and stopped his hands from groping at you the way he wants.

“No – ” He frowned again, still confused, mind racing racing racing because is that your perfect nipple he can see through the sheer black fabric that could only barely be considered a bra?

“Happy birthday.” You curled yourself around him, looked up at him with those doe eyes of yours, and he tugged his hands free so he can grab your jaw, give your face a little shake.

Anxiety swooped in his stomach for a second, the briefest of seconds, because he wasn’t ready to be confronted with that, not yet, not fuckin’ yet. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and licked into your mouth, kissed you hot and wet as your hands dropped to his jeans, worked on the belt buckle and button, worked on easin’ his zipper down down down.

“How’d you find out it was my birthday?” He grumbled against your lips, and he’s sweating now, sweating as he pushed you backwards onto the mattress, rose petals fluttering away from the movement.

“I went lookin’.” You said nonchalantly, and that almost scared the shit out of him because where the hell could you have found that?

“Oh yeah?” He said back, climbing on top of you, already snapping the elastic of your bra, of your panties, of your garters that hold up your fishnet stockings.

You arched for him, stretched out like a great big cat, and his mouth salivates. He forgets all about the grey fuckin’ hair and the bullshit at work and the phone call he got that’s rattled his fucking brain, and he dives into you.

“Yeah.” You hummed when he sets his sights on your neck, when he licks his tongue across the golden chain you’ve kept on for damn near a year, his cock hard in his briefs, even harder when you reach down to grasp it. “So, happy birthday.”

He crinkled his nose at the sentiment, even though it’s comin’ from you, even though you make everything better.

“I’m an old man.” He huffed, bit down hard on your shoulder, hands splaying over the lace of your bra. He wanted to rip it up, rip it off, and he wondered if you’d let him. Wondered if you’d be pissed at him or if you’d think it’s sexy.

He ripped it off and you laughed, you kissed him.

“You’re _my_ man.” You shook your head, kissed and kissed and kissed him until he’s moaning against your lips, hips rutting up against your thigh as he shoved you further up the bed.

He’s going to have fun with you tonight, he already knows.

“Say it again.” He demands, and you do, you tipped your head back for him and he buried his face in your cleavage like he’d been wanting to do all day, kissed the flesh of your freed breasts, nipples hardening from the cold air, from his touch.

“You’re my man.” You gasped, hand going up to his hair as he bites and sucks marks that he knows is going to turn bright red. He sucked some more.

“And you’re my present?” He asked, real cheeky like, because of course you’d be so sweet, of course you’d give him something like this, this chance to really peel you apart layer by layer – too bad he was impatient and an asshole, too bad he ripped up those layers instead of savorin’ them.

You didn’t mind, you never minded, you think it’s – what was the word? Endearing. You loved him.

“Why don’t you open me up and find out?” You asked with a wink, and Pale sucked his teeth with a smirk, eager to do just that.

It never got old, he found, the unraveling of your legs, the parting of your pussy, the opening of your body to him. Each and every fucking time it was always like magic, like a drug, even better than the fucking coke – if anything could be. If it could be, it was this, he thinks to himself as he pried your legs apart.

And you’re go fucking good for him the way you wriggled up and up the bed, face already blushing and hot, he can feel hot fucking hot you are from there, as his hands wandered up and over you, down and around, pulled and pushed you how he wanted.

The coke buzzed in his veins and he growled as he yanked your panties down, tossed it across the room, snapping the garters on the way. He liked the fishnets, liked how they warped and stretched over the flesh of your thighs, your calves. He dug his hands into them, wondered if they would leave an imprint.

“I’m gonna eat this cunt of yours, because I deserve it, ain’t that right?” He asked, not that it was really ever a question of if he deserved it or not. If he thought about it too hard, he might come to the conclusion that no, he doesn’t really, but you don’t deny him either way.

“Yeah, you do, it’s yours.” You gasped as he settled himself between your legs, ignoring his cock for just a minute or two as he licked a hot stripe up your cunt.

You moaned and let a hand fly down to his hair, let yourself grip tight at the base of his scalp, and he practically purred into your pussy, thrust his tongue in as deep as it could go, ate you out like it was his last meal on earth. He could die happy, die just like this, suffocate in your cunt.

He decided he was going to take his time with you to make up for the quickie he had to give you earlier that morning. Decided he was going to drag it all out as long as he possibly could, make you come as many times as he could.

And oh, he could.

“You better come down my fucking throat, don’t you fucking hold out on me, okay?” He pulled away, smacked the outside of your thigh so hard that the sound of it startled you.

“Okay okay okay, I’ll come, make me come.” You laughed, a laugh that dissolved into a great big moan as he lowered his head back down.

You tasted like heaven, like pure sweet sex, like everything he had ever hoped and dreamed and longed for, all right there, right between your legs. Your pussy throbbed for him, your hips undulating in short little movements that had Pale’s chest growing warm.

He stroked your walls with his tongue, held your hip and your thigh steady so you wouldn’t go jerkin’ around or nothing, so you couldn’t go wriggling away like you were wont to do sometimes when things got too overwhelming. He wanted you overwhelmed, wanted you babbling.

He grazed his teeth over your clit and you had to throw one of your legs over his shoulder, the heel of your foot digging into his back, digging into the suit jacket he still hadn’t taken off, that he could feel he was sweating through. He didn’t give a shit, just kept licking at you, spelled his name, whispered secrets there, you moaning and panting all the while.

He liked you like that, liked that he could see your skin going shiny with sweat, liked that he could hear the whine in your throat as you fisted his hair.

He felt you coming before he tasted it, felt the way you tensed up for a split second, the way your knees locked around him, the way your toes curled. He couldn’t help but smirk right into your cunt, drinking all your come as it pulsed into his mouth.

“Good girl.” He pulled away, glanced up at you through the valley of your tits, nipples rock hard against the air.

But you, sweet thing that you were, you weren’t finished, there’s no way you could be, not ever satisfied until you got his cock in you, and you were already licking your lips, already reaching for him, trying to pull him up by his cheeks, by his ears.

“Pale, please – ” You said, but he lunged up to kiss you, cutting you off, bruising your lips with his own in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

He stroked your face with his sticky fingers, smeared your come and sweat around, licked and licked the corner of your mouth as his hand pinched at one of your nipples so hard that he could feel more of your come sliding out of your cunt, onto his thigh.

“Be patient, greedy whore.” He said, dropping his hand down to your pussy, making you gasp and moan as he fucked you with your own slick, two big fingers slowly slowly pumping in and out of you, making your hips lift up to try and get more friction, “It’s my fuckin’ birthday, ain’t it?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded, and Pale smirked.

“Then we’re gonna do what I want.” He said, plain and simple, and you pouted, didn’t like not getting your way. Greedy.

“What do you want?” You asked, voice hoarse, and he hummed, hummed and hummed and pretended to think while he fingered you, while your hand grasped at his wrist to prevent him from pulling away, while he sank down the bed just enough to ease your other nipple between his teeth.

“I want you to cry for me.” He said, adding a third finger to your pussy. His ring, middle, and index finger were doing their best to bring tears to your eyes, and they succeeded, especially when he included his thumb into the mix, using that to barely barely barely rub your clit.

He sucked on your nipple as he fingered you, and he had a hard time keeping the grin off his face when your hips thrust into his hand, when you really started fucking yourself on his fingers, when he lets you use him for your pleasure.

“Yes! Oh, oh Pale.” You cried, fat tears sliding down your cheeks and soaking into your hair, into the pillowcase below.

“Yeah that’s right, say my name, say my fucking name – shout it out. I want the whole fucking city to know who owns this pussy.” He snarled, suddenly taking control again, sliding his pinky into you too.

Fuck, he could fist you, could stick his whole hand in you if he wanted, could reach all the way inside you and fucking punch your cunt from the inside out.

The thought was addicting, absolutely fucking addicting, even moreso than the coke, than the music, than anything else.

“Pale! You do, I’m yours, I’m your whore – spit on me do whatever I’m yours.” You sobbed as he did what you asked, leaned back enough to spit right on your cunt, used it as lube even though you were drenched, you were sopping wet, his hand glistening and shining as he dragged it in and out of you.

He was so hard in his pants, leaking, he could feel himself leaking, and he wanted nothing more than to fuck you so badly but he wanted you to come again first, wanted you to fucking go at it again, wanted it to blow your fucking mind.

He sped up and up and up, until you were convulsing under him, until you were sobbing loud, orgasm hitting you so hard that you were bleeding from how hard you bit your lips.

He pulled his hand away abruptly, watching your cunt gape and wink at him, watching your pussy flutter, watching your stomach tense and your chest heave as you sobbed and sobbed, as your knees fell open and you were nothing more than a limp, twitching mess.

He shucked all his clothes off, did another little bump of coke, just the tiniest bit, emptied the rest of his little vial down his nose and under his lips, sliding into you real easy.

You took him no problem, pussy already contracting around his cock as he pounded you. He didn’t want to take his time with this, he wanted to blow his load as deep in you as he could go. He imagined it shooting up into your stomach, up your throat, into your mouth, imagined you swallowing it back down again.

He knew that wasn’t, it wasn’t how that worked, but fuck the thought turned him on so much he groaned and growled in your ear.

You were still crying, hiccupping, as he fucked into you, rammed his cock so hard and fast that it was all he could do but hold onto your hips, keep you pinned beneath him. He had to re-arrange you so that you were lying on your stomach, propped up on pillows because you had gone so limp as he shoved his cock into your wet cunt from behind, making you drool and drool.

He wasn’t going to last, not like this, not with the blood rushing to his cock, making him dizzy dizzy dizzy. He wanted one more from you, knew it was too much to ask, he knew that – but he wanted it anyway, wanted to make you scream, wanted everyone to know it was him, only him, always him.

“Again, do it again.” He demanded, bit down hard at the spot where your neck and shoulder met, but you only moaned loud and high.

“I – I can’t.” You whined, eyes shut tight tight tight, mouth dropped open, gasping for breath. God you looked a fucking wreck, it was gorgeous, everything about you was gorgeous.

“Yes you can, be good for me, you can be good, can’t you?” He murmured, soft and sweet as his balls slapped hard against your ass, as your shoulders pinched back, regaining some ability to move once more, using that ability to meet his hips for every thrust.

“Pale it’s _so much._” You said despite all that, despite going back for more and more.

He pulled your hair away from your face, licked up your tears there as he fucked you, as he could feel his own orgasm start to creep up on him, as he could feel himself grow more and more desperate.

He wanted one more out of you, just one more, before he came in you.

“I know sweetheart I know, you can keep going, I know you can.” He soothed you with his words as his big hands gripped too tight, left real bruises there that would make you sore, bruises he’d press his fingertips into later, to remind you of the sweet sting, “You’re such a pretty slut.”

“Pale – I – oh fuck!” You shouted, coming one last time, making Pale finally fucking come, finally push his hips into you with enough force that it knocked you down off your elbows.

It felt like the crashing waves of the ocean, like the slam of cymabls, like the roar of a thunderstorm, coming into you, coming and coming, pining you down and filling you with it, hot and thick. 

He felt victorious in a sick sort of way, god he had you, he was the only lucky bastard to ever have you.

“You ain’t never had a cock like mine huh baby?” He asked, as his hips came to a slow roll, as he fucked his come in and out of you, felt it squelch around his cock, felt it drip all over the sheets. “Say it.”

“No, never, only you.” He was proud at reducing you to this, to barely being able to speak a few words. He did that to you, made you come that hard.

“Fucking ruined you for any other dick huh? Never gonna have anything like this again huh?” He asked, and you gulped down big breaths of air as you tried to breathe, tried to get yourself together, even as he milked your orgasms for what it was worth.

“No no no, never, you’re the only one – oh Christ.” You moaned when he dropped a hand back to your clit, made you sob for him just a little more, trapped you.

You pushed your hips away from his hand only to fuck yourself deeper onto his cock, and you were shaking shaking shaking all over, all over, hands flexing and gripping the sheets, searching for a reprieve where there was only more acute pleasure.

When he pulled out, it was careful, so so careful, not wanting to hurt you. A huge pang of regret hit his chest in the fear that he had done real damange, that he had hurt you, and he spent time carefully checking over you, asking you if you were alright, bringing you water and wiping you down with a soft towel, one that wouldn’t irritate your skin.

You looked asleep, looked almost like you had blacked out, but when he shuffled under the covers with you and looped his arms around you, you smiled, little tremors running through your body.

He wondered when it started, when the sex became second best, second only to the moments like these, the moments where he gets to just lay with you. You’re covered in tears and there’s spit all over the place, spit and sweat, a lazy hand swirling it where it’s pooled in the dip of your navel. Your whole body is flushed and blotchy and your breathing is still uneven, and Pale can’t help but think you’re perfect.

The sex was incredible, but this, this was always something else, something he had never had before.

After a long time, a long long time, when he was sure you really had fallen asleep, you bit your lips and tapped his chest, getting his attention – as if it weren’t always on you anyway.

“I wanted your opinion on somethin’.” You whispered in the quiet, voice hoarse from all the shouting, all the yelling.

“How’s that honey?” He asked, voice soft and gentle, always gentle with you after being too rough, his hand caressing your back.

“My apartment. Lease is almost up you know.” You said, and he nods.

“Yeah, I know.” He said back, yawning great and big, as you trace his gold chain with the very tip of your finger.

“I was thinking maybe I wasn’t gonna renew it.” You said, making him crack an eye open to look at you.

“Are you bein’ serious right now or did the fucking get to your head?” He asked, and you grinned, and he pinched your cheek, your nose, only making you grin even more.

“I’m bein’ serious. I was thinking maybe…I could not renew the lease, and instead move in. Here, with you. You know I just figure since I’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I’ve already got so much stuff moved over from my place. And it could be nice to have this, have you to come home to when you come home. You wouldn’t have to deal with my walk-up or my neighbors or Marty or nothin’, we could just be here together.” You said, like you had been rehearsing, like you had been practicing. And he was entirely on board until you said, “I could help with rent, we could split it halfsies.”

“No.” He shook his head abruptly, making your gaze fall, your hand withdraw from where he had been running over and over the gold.

“…Oh. Okay – ” You said, and he wanted to kick himself because fuck he didn’t realize how that sounded.

“Huh, no! No not _no_, I meant, no you ain’t gonna split the rent with me at all. You ain’t gonna pay for rent, not with me.” He said, cupping your cheeks in his hand, makin’ you look up at him.

“Pale but this place has to be expensive – ” You frowned, but he shook his head, kissed you real gentle on the mouth, kissed reassurance into your lips.

“Yeah, and? I got it, I don’t want you spendin’ any money, okay? Not on shit like this. You’re gonna live here and you’re not gonna worry about anythin’, okay? I mean it.” He said, adamant, and your eyes lit up.

“You really want me to stay?” You whispered, and Pale wondered if he’d not been doin’ a good job at making you feel wanted, if you had to ask a question like that.

“I’ve wanted you to stay for damn near a year, (Y/N).” He said, making you grin, “I’ve wanted you to stay ever since I first saw you through that window of yours. I want you to be here in the mornings with me so I can fuck you awake, so I can come in your mouth for breakfast and I want you to make coffee for me while I bitch about the construction and I want you to paint your toenails on the fire escape so the smell of the acetone don’t stink up the living room. I want you to go out shopping and come home in lingerie that I get to rip off. I want to dance with you in the fuckin’ dining room and the living room and the bedroom and I want you to cry on my cock all the time.”

“I’m gonna have to sell all my furniture.” You laughed, crying for something different, for a whole different reason, and Pale just wiped the happy tear away, licked it off his thumb.

“No you’re not, move it over, your shit’s only across the fuckin’ street.” He said, before pinching at your cheek and teasing, “It ain’t like you got anything anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up,” You giggled, blissed out and euphoric, “Where am I gonna put my tub?”

“It can go in the second bathroom, if you want. We don’t got a tub here, only the shower.” He said, he didn’t care, he was over the fucking moon.

You could put the tub anywhere you damn well pleased, could put it right in the fucking bedroom if you wanted, he didn’t care. He suddenly just so overcome with affection, adoration, love for you, for wanting him, wanting to be and stay with him.

“I’m glad you moved here.” You said, sincerity in your eyes and deep deep in your chest, “I don’t think I ever said that before. But I am.”

“I’m glad too. If for only because of you. The traffic’s a bitch and the people suck and the air ain’t clean and people are dyin’ all the time, dyin’ in the streets and in the parks and in their apartments, but at least I got you. No where else has you.” He said, took a second just to look at you, just to admire how beautiful you were, “They say that somewhere between living and dreaming, there’s New York. I don’t know, I think between living and dreaming, there’s you.”

You blushed, always so soft for him, for his words when he gives them to you like this, when he can finally figure out how to express himself to you.

He had a bit of a hard time sometimes, expressing himself to you, but he’d gotten better, this past year – had tried, anyway.

“Is that a grey hair?” You asked randomly, letting your fingers comb through his locks, and he groaned.

“For fucks sake, another one?” He asked, already searching for a mirror in the side-table drawer, making you laugh and tug him back down to cuddle up with you under the covers.

“What? No! Don’t rip it out.” You insisted, smacking his hand away, grabbing it and bringing it to your lips where you could kiss the knuckles there, the back of his hands.

“Why not?” He frowned, thinking of how he yanked one out earlier.

“I like it. Makes you look distinguished.” You grinned up at him, and his heart thudded in his chest.

“You sayin’ I looked unimpressive before?” He teased, and you just laughed, and he laughed, and for a little while, everything felt like it was going to be perfect forever.

Until there was a pounding on the front door, that had you both startled.

“What was that?” You asked, as you sat up straight away, reacting to the noise with annoyance rather than fear.

You were out of the bed in an instant, as the pounding resumed, putting on your big soft robe Pale had gotten you and storming out of the room.

Pale scrambled, not knowing who the fuck it was, not knowing it they were a dangerous person or not. He threw on some clothes too, pulled his own robe tight around his hips and chased after you, panic flooding his system as he tried to recall if he had pissed anyone off.

“(Y/N), wait a fuckin’ second let me – ” He rushed, when the pounding on the door didn’t stop.

“Open the fucking door!” A voice called from the other side, and Pale’s blood ran cold, chilled right through his fucking body, because he recognized that voice, knew exactly who it had belonged to.

How the fuck had _she_ found him?

“Okay just shut the fuck! Up!” He shouted, irritation and rage consuming him as he yanked the door open, as the two of you were met with a slap in the face each from the well manicured hand of a woman Pale honestly thought he wouldn’t have to fucking see in person again for a long long time.

“You got some real fucking nerve talking to me like that.” She hissed at him, bullying her way into the apartment, rounding on you with her hand poised to slap you again, “And _you!_” She shouted, making Pale’s protective instinct kick into overdrive as he stepped between you and her, as he grabbed her arms and shook her like some fucking psychotic rag doll.

“Hey! What the fuck is the matter with you? Hey! Fucking look at me.” Pale shouted in her face while you stood stunned behind him, eyes wide, confused and scared, “You _ever _touch (Y/N) like that again I swear to god I’ll break your fuckin’ bones, Barbie.” He shook her hard again before dropping his grip on her with such force she stumbled back against the wall.

“Don’t call me that _Jimmy, _you piece of shit.” She spit on the floor, literally spit on his floor, red in the face and seething.

“Pale who – ” You finally spoke up, arms snaking around his middle from behind, wanting to keep him close to you.

“I’m his wife.” She sneered, and Pale wanted to scream, because of course she would pull a stunt like this, of course.

“(Y/N), this is Barabra.” He said through a clenched jaw, already trying to race through what the fuck it was she could possibly want.


	3. Breakfast

You almost wanted to laugh when you saw her.

Almost.

Not because she’s funny, just because she’s almost exactly how you pictured her. She’s standing at the door, at his door, at your door, in a long brown fur coat, hair teased to high heavens, pearl necklace around her neck and pretty white heels on her feet. She’s standing there smokin’ a Virginia Slims, has it stuck between her two fingers that are manicured and polished with long red acrylics.

She may have moved to Miami, but she was still very much a Jersey woman.

A Jersey woman who, while neither in Jersey or Miami, was standing there, at the door, staring you down.

“That’s right, I’m his fucking wife.” She sneered, shifted her weight back and forth making her hips bob up and down like she’s hot shit. She appraised you, looked down on you up up up in those heels of hers, smoked her cigarette. “And what are you, his whore?”

Well, you thought, Jersey women have nothin’ on the women from Queens.

“Yeah,” You said, stepping around Pale from where you had been holdin’ him back, stepping around him and stepping into her space, crowding her, teeth bared at her, “I _am_ his whore.”

Her eyebrows shot up at that, not expecting you to be proud of it. But how could you not? How could you be anything other than proud of Pale, of your man? You’d shout it off the fire escape for all the city to hear, you didn’t give a shit.

She looks like she’s distraught then, right in that moment, and she barreled further into the apartment, threw herself down onto the couch in the living room. You wanted to scoff because fuck, you’ve never seen someone acting so badly, crocodile tears running mascara down her cheeks.

“God, Jim, did you have to stoop so low? I leave you for what, three years? And you stoop this low.” She wailed and wailed, loud and mighty, accent thick and voice pitched high, “Shacking up with some tramp, how much do you pay her huh? How much does she get for suckin’ your cock?”

And just like that the tears are gone, replaced with the hard stare of a woman scorned.

Your patience had worn out, officially drained at the accusation, the assumption, and you marched over to the living room, yanked her off of your couch by her ankle, sent her crashing to the floor with a sharp, _hey!_

“Nothin! He gives me nothing! And I don’t ask for anything unlike you!” You shouted, losing it, losing your patience. You had been having such a good fucking day, such a wonderful fucking evening, before she crashed it and ruined it like she did everything else. You had never even met this woman, and she had already ruined everything.

“Unlike you I love this man. I love him more than you ever fucking did, could, or would. I chose him and he chose me and I love him. I don’t go abandonin’ him for three fuckin’ years – do you even hear the words comin’ outta your mouth?” You snapped, all in her face, and she’s standing again, scrambling to not let you have the upper hand.

She jabbed you in the shoulder again and again, antagonizing you, and you only could grit your teeth.

“Oh yeah right you love him, bullshit. Bullshit, how much is he paying you?” She demanded to know, hysterical, absolutely hysterical.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” You didn’t know how many times you were going to have to fucking explain it, but you were getting sick of trying. “And you know what, even if I were, I’d have more dignity than you.”

You almost didn’t register it when she slapped you, hard across the face with those nails of hers. All you knew was that you were on the floor, a stinging burning pain already numbing your cheek.

Without a second fucking thought, you swiped her leg, sent her crashing down to the ground, and an all-out brawl began.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had to fight someone, the last you had ever even _thought_ about fighting someone. It had to have been in high school, had to have been years ago. But like most things in life, it all came rushin’ back when you needed it, when you had to put up your fists and defend yourself. And it was defending yourself, but it was more than that – it was defending your man.

Your man, who, was standing stunned for all of one minute before inserting himself into the middle of where the two of you were goin’ after one another.

“Hey get the fuck off of her!” He pried Barbara away from you, grabbed at the back of her neck and hoisted her up like she was some feral cat, “Why are you here – where are the kids?”

“They’re still in Florida you piece of shit, God, how’d I know I’d find you like this?” Barbara was out of breath, panting, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand to smear away some blood from where you had clocked her pretty good.

You were still on the floor, and Pale unceremoniously dropped his seething wife to come to your aid. He crouched down next to you, so tender, hands all over you to check for serious damage. You could feel the sharp sting of scratches from her nails, and your scalp hurt where she had yanked on your hair, but other than that, the most overwhelming thing was the adrenaline thudding thudding thudding in your ears, in your brain.

“You don’t get to fucking call him that, not after what you did to him.” You said, voice hoarse and angry, so angry for him, for Pale.

“What _I _did?” Barbara scoffed, already reaching into her purse and pulling out a fancy golden compact, checking her appearance.

“Yeah, what _you _did, you cunt.” You scoffed right back, absolutely fucking incredulous at this woman, at the gall of her, the nerve of her. Pale helped you stand up, and you indelicately re-tied your robe, concealing your body from where the sash had come undone in the scuffle, all the while continuing, “You think I don’t know? You think I didn’t find out about all the shit you did to him, said to him, made him do?”

“Jimmy didn’t do nothin’ he didn’t want to do.” Barbara shook his head and that’s when Pale decided to speak up again.

“That’s a fuckin’ lie and you know it.” And now he’s shouting, now he’s angry angry angry, and you sigh, because fuck all you had wanted for tonight was for him to relax, him to enjoy himself. “What do you want from me, how come you’ve been blowin’ up my fuckin’ phone this whole goddamned time?”

“I thought it’d be obvious you jackass, I’m here to take you back!” Barbara shouted, leaving both you and Pale speechless.

You looked at one another, and then at her, and then back at one another, both of your mouths agape.

“…_What?_” Pale asked, not even angry, not even yelling, just…so fucking confused.

You were both so confused.

You needed a drink to deal with this, needed something.

Without another word, you left to go into the kitchen, to rummage around for a bottle of whiskey and two clean glasses. Barbara and Pale were still arguing in the living room, but thanks to the new modern open plan design, you were still privy to all of it.

“Yeah, you know. I’m here to bring you back home.” Barbara tried explaining to an only dumbfounded Pale.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He asked, asked seriously, like he was worried she had hit her head too hard when you had knocked her to the ground.

“Pale is home.” You tried getting that through her thick skull, but that only started up the yelling again.

“Pale Pale Pale!” She shouted, yelled, snapped, spit, “That’s not his fucking name, his name is James, Jimmy if you’re friendly – if you’re his wife.” She was close to hysterics again and you were genuinely worried that the cops were gonna get called, that the neighbors were gonna file a noise complaint.

You had half a mind to call the cops yourself, but no, there was too much drug shit out in the open, and that could get the both of yous in trouble. So you poured the drinks instead, handed a shakin’ glass to Pale who downed nearly half the cup in one big gulp.

“Yeah well you ain’t my fuckin’ wife no more Barbie, don’t you get that?” He asked, sat himself down on the couch.

“What are you – ” She started, and he only sighed, sick of yelling.

He motioned for you to come over to him, to sit on his lap, and you did, of course you did. You carried the second glass over and settled right on his knee, sitting sideways and loopin’ your arms around his neck in the way you always did, kissed at his cheek in the way you always did.

You wondered how that looked to Barbara, who stood all by herself, awkwardly on the other side of the room. You hoped she felt uncomfortable, hoped she felt awful, for coming in here and starting this shit.

“Do you see a ring on my fuckin’ finger? Huh?” Pale asked, “Do you see your ugly mug all over the walls, do you see your clothes in my closet? No. I meant what I said down in Miami. I can’t believe you burned my money to fly up here just to piss me off and attack my girl – that’s a real new fuckin’ low for you.”

“Last time I checked I didn’t sign no divorce papers.” Barbara crossed her arms over her chest and gave him a challenging stare, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Because _you _had to be the biggest fucking cunt you could!” He sounded truly exasperated now, and you let your arm stroke up and down his chest where it too was exposed from the robe starting to fall open, “I _begged_ you to fuckin’ sign them, don’t think I wanted to stick around, I didn’t have a god damned choice, you didn’t give me a choice.”

“So you cheat on me.” Barbara pouted, all sad eyes that you all knew would get her nowhere. Jesus, you thought, what a fucking manipulator, especially when her chin wobbled with false sorrow and she began to cry again, “You don’t cheat on someone you love, Jimmy!”

“Well maybe I don’t fucking love you anymore!” Pale threw up his arms, let them fall back down with a smack on his muscular thighs, “Maybe I don’t love you anymore.”

You wondered just then, in the dark of the living room, if they had ever talked about this. If this was the first time any of this discussion was actually coming to light. The way Barbara’s expression began to change and shift from anger to sadness to confusion said that maybe they hadn’t.

“What?” She asked, quiet in a way that was loud.

You just sat there, on Pale’s lap, watching his hand clench and unclench, watching his chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath and gave her a hard stare right back.

“Maybe I haven’t loved you for a real long fuckin’ time.” Pale said, and you could see the way she visibly flinched, could see how those words stung. “How is it cheatin’ on you when I ain’t hear from you for 11 months outta the year, huh? How is it cheatin’ on you when you’re a thousand fucking miles away? You told me, Barbie, _you _told _me._”

“Oh yeah, what’d I tell you?” She asked, defiant.

“’I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of being here – tired of you.’” Pale recited, a line from a letter you had read a year ago.

It hurt you to know that Pale had it memorized. You wondered how many times he had read the letter she left, wondered how many times he had scanned the lines again and again. You wondered how it felt, to come home after working a twenty hour day, and finding your family packed up and gone away.

You never wanted to find out.

“Yeah okay okay, sure, paint me as the bad guy.” Barbara grumbled, lit up a cigarette, and your temper came back, all sympathy for her gone.

“You are the bad guy! Are you delusional? Are you high? Did the flight fuck up your braincells?” You asked.

Pale’s grip on you tightened, which you thought was kinda funny, because it was like him preventing you from lunging at her throat, preventing you from springing off of his lap and tackling her to the ground. You didn’t know what had come over you today, why you were so aggressive.

You were just so annoyed at this woman.

“Did you know?” She asks instead of answering you, not that you really wanted an answer anyway.

“Did I know what?” You shot right back, even though you do, you did.

“That he was married? Did you know.” She clarifies, and you do laugh then.

“Yeah of course I fucking knew.” You said, said it like she was stupid, because really she had to be stupid. “I knew and I didn’t give a shit because I figured he ain’t got a good marriage anyways, if he’s out here fucking me all day and night.” You pointed out, and maybe she didn’t expect that either, because her eyebrows shot up and she turned her attention back to him.

“You fucked her?” She asked Pale, but you didn’t take too nicely to being talked over, talked about like you weren’t even there.

“We were fuckin’ just now, and havin’ a real good god damned time about it too until you came to ruin the mood.” You said, and she looked so confused, as if it were a shock anyone would enjoy sex with Pale.

“Why is it his birthday or something?” She asked, and Pale got up then, shifted you off of his lap and stood up, downed the rest of the whiskey and sighed out real low and long.

“Sixteen years we were together and you don’t even know it’s my birthday.” He said, swirling the last stubborn drop of the drink round and round in the glass before setting it down on the coffee table. He turned away, fully intending on heading back to the bedroom, tired of wanting to deal with this insufferable person anymore. “Why am I not surprised, you selfish bitch.”

He got only a couple steps in, before Barbara lit a new cigarette and blew the smoke out through her nose like some ugly beast and said,

“I wish you had died instead of your queer brother.”

Pale stopped walking then, his legs coming to a screeching halt, like he had been struck by lightning, lost in time and space.

“Get out of my apartment.” You said, turning to face her.

“Your apartment?” She challenged, but you weren’t in the mood to entertain her, not now or ever again.

“Get out!” You snapped, your heart breaking for Pale who was still so quiet, so still, frozen frozen frozen.

He’s still frozen when she finally realizes that she’s unwanted, unwelcome.

When she leaves, she leaves all the tension in the air. It’s so thick you felt like you could cut it with a knife, and that loud silence is back. It’s just you and Pale again, in the penthouse. Just you and him, together and alone at last, and Pale still hasn’t spoken, and that’s more unsettling to you than anything else, because Pale never shuts up.

“Honey, don’t listen to her.” You said softly, taking a careful step around to the front of him, to see how he aches, how his face is pinched with sadness.

There’s wetness in his big brown eyes, a shine that’s reflecting all the lights from the city outside, and when you go to cup his cheek, you can tell he is torn between embracing you and pushing you away.

“She’s right.” He whispers after some time, after deciding to embrace you, after letting you smooth your hand over his cheek, rub small circles there.

“Pale, she isn’t.” Your voice cracks, and then you’ve got tears in your eyes too, because his are sliding down his nose.

How had everything gone to shit in so short of a time? Only moments ago it felt like you were both in paradise, on top of the moon. Now, the world felt dark and grey and the familiar face of grief has reared its ugly head in your man’s chest, has stoked the fire of his mourning, has caused that sick guilt to surface once again.

Pale fell to his knees before you, wrapped his arms around your legs. He let out a long, anguished shout, one that had you gasping, one that had you cradling his head against your stomach, desperately trying to soothe him as those wracking sobs hit him once again.

You’d kill her, you decided, right there in that moment, if she ever showed up again. You’d go to the fancy knife block and kill her, for what she’s done, what she did, what she’s doing.

Pale shudders and shakes beneath your palms, and you want to kill her.

“No, she _is. _She’s right, it should have – it shoulda been me.” He shoves his face between the soft plush fabric of your robe, shoves it up into your skin, buries his face in your flesh as he hiccups and cries, “I shoulda been the one to kick the fuckin’ bucket, not Robbie, it shouldn’t have been Robbie – ”

He’s wrecked, wrecked from this, and you cursed under your breath because he had been doin’ so good lately, hadn’t been so raw lately.

But now, now it was nothing but raw, grief pure and brutal and angry.

You’re angry for him.

You’re heartbroken for him.

“Come here, come here.” You say, voice soft and gentle. He needs soft, needs gentle. God knows he never got it, never got it when he needed it, from Barbara or anyone else. “Let’s go back to bed, okay? It’s cold out here, you’re going to get cold.”

And you know he doesn’t, won’t, not really. He runs so hot, but still. Something about sadness made people grow cold, and though his skin is sweating and warm, you know inside he’s gotta be feeling the chill of it.

“(Y/N),” He sounds so young then, so young. Not like the nearly-forty that he was, and you only keep trying to coax him up up up into your arms. He finally rises, winds his arms around you, holds you so tight as he cries into your shoulder, “(Y/N) it shoulda been me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” You assure him, wanting him calm, needing him calm. Calm before he hurts himself somehow, mind flashing back to a year ago when he had stumbled in, drunk and high out of his mind, bleeding all over your floor. You hug him, ground him, soothe him, all the while telling him, “Come on.”

He lets himself be led into the bedroom, and you sigh.

All around the carpeting are scraps and pieces of black lace where only an hour or two prior, he had been so happy, so eager to tear them off of your body, a birthday gift just for him. Now the whole evening was destroyed, and you watced with sad eyes as he collected himself enough to strip off his robe, let it fall to the ground.

He sat naked on the mattress and you watched as it dipped under the sturdy weight of him. He patted his lap but you hesitated only for a moment, deciding he could probably, desperately use a cigarette. So instead of going right to his lap like you normally always would, instead you walked to the night-table where he always kept a few extra packs of Barclays.

You stuck one in between your teeth, holding it just long enough to light it. Only when it was lit did you shuck your robe off too, did you move to where he was waiting for you, did you give it to him and climb into his lap.

“Here.” You said, pressing the cigarette between his own lips, and he eagerly sucked down the nicotine.

“Thank you, thank you – fuck – oh god, fuck.” He said, tears stinging stinging stinging has he smoked and smoked, trying to let the flood in his lungs soothe him from the inside out.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Is all you said, not wanting to push him, but wanting him to know he was safe with you, could let it all out with you.

With his grip on you tight, he moved the two of you backwards so you were lying down, on top of the messed up covers, greyish blusish smoke wafting up into the air.

Pale was crying into your hair, but it was a quiet cry this time, not the shuddering gasping mess he had been only a few minutes before. You in his arms soothed him more than the cigarettes ever did, but you knew they helped, were glad that they helped.

“He didn’t deserve to die,” Pale said, sighed, eyes pinched shut, “It shoulda been me. No one woulda cared if it was me. No one would be surprised, they’d say ‘oh yeah that’s about right’ if they’d heard it was me. Family fuckup, that’s me. Not doin’ nothin’ with my life, failed career failed marriage failed – ”

“That’s not true.” You shook your head, craning your neck up to look at him from where you were curled against his chest, a familiar comforting weight on his body.

“It is! It is.” He insisted, flicked his ash onto the carpeting, “Robbie was gonna be somebody. Anna…Anna said he was good, he was the best. He was gonna be somebody, (Y/N). What am I? How am I better?” He asked, and you frowned.

You didn’t know who Anna was, didn’t know, didn’t care. She didn’t matter, it’d been a year and he’d never mentioned her, so you figured she couldn’t matter much. Robbie mattered -- but Robbie wasn’t Pale’s fault.

“We’re all gonna be somebody. All of us in our own way, doing our own thing. Your career ain’t failed, it’s just gettin’ started. You have so much ahead of you, and you know that. You know it.” You said, and he pinched at your nose, smiled sadly at you. You smiled right back, sighed and with a nasal voice you said, “I would have cared.”

“You wouldn’t have known me.” Pale let out a deep big breath then, and you could feel the tension starting to melt from his shoulders, could see the tears starting to slow.

“I still would have cared.” You insisted, rolling onto your back and tugging him against your chest, letting him settle his head on your breast, letting him smoke and smoke and breathe just how he needs to. You carded your fingers through his hair, lightly scratched against his scalp and licked your lips, wet your dry throat, “I woulda felt something out there, in the great big unknown. I woulda felt it, you goin’. I would’ve cared.”

“C-can you keep talkin’? Please? Fuck, I can’t – please just – please?” Pale whispers, eyes closing, mouth sucking down the last of the cigarette all the way down to the filter.

You nodded, let your own eyes close too.

“You know I heard once, a long time ago, maybe I read it, I dunno; that when a person dies and there’s no one to mourn em, the sadness has nowhere to go. So it wanders around and around, lookin’ for somewhere to live, someone’s chest to be there to feel it. I think the same is true for love, you know? When someone’s got all this love to give and no one to give it to, it wanders too. I think you were wanderin’, your love was searching, and it led you to me. And I’m grateful for that, that I get to house your love, instead of your mournin’. But I would have taken your mournin’ too.”

In your head it was calm and peaceful, all the rage you had felt long gone.

Outside, snow began to fall. Soft flurries that whirled past the window, wind whipped in pretty swirls. You felt like you were in a snowglobe, felt like this penthouse was you and Pale’s own personal world, kept safe and warm and contained, away from the big bad world outside.

Pale was breathin’ against you, gently, softly, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

“I ain’t got many people, you know? Before you, I had a couple of friends I saw every month or so, a couple regulars at the diner. I got Fish and Chaya but they’re like parents to me, my parents in a suburb a suburb away. I think I had too much love too, and it was wanderin’ too, and there you were, angry and big and crass and willin’ to take it all.”

You continued, let your fingers twist in and around his soft locks, glad that he had washed his hair with you that morning. You loved the way it feathered and fell through your fingers, silky wavy and black as midnight.

You wondered if it was midnight now, if it was later. You couldn’t see the clock, didn’t want to even open your eyes to look.

“You didn’t have to take it all, but you did. You coulda fucked me and been done, a one night stand with a stranger, but you stayed. And you kept comin’ back, and I kept lovin’ you. Right from day fuckin’ one I loved you.” You said, quietly, voice so quiet and yet loud enough that there was no way to miss what you were saying, “I woulda cared.”

You and Pale laid there for a long time, the two of yous just soaking in the feeling of one another.

You wondered if he had been scared, when Barbara showed up. If he had been worried. Maybe he thought that once you saw her, you’d be angry with him, you’d want to leave him. Maybe he thought she’d convince you to leave him, like she had done years and years ago.

You wondered now, if he was relieved, that you hadn’t. That you weren’t planning on going anywhere, nowhere at all. You were his, pure and simple.

It snows outside, and Pale sighs, but this time it’s not so shaky as it had been. This time, it’s more resigned than anything else, as he pinches the cigarette between his fingers.

He gets up off of your chest to stick the butt of it in the ashtray, to squash it down. You take the opportunity to get more comfortable, to get onto the bed properly, instead of having your legs hanging down over the side of the mattress like the had been.

Pale puts out the cigarette and slides under the covers, the two of you facing one another.

“You woulda loved him.” Pale said finally, after a real long time of being quiet. “Robbie, I mean. You two woulda gotten along like two fuckin’ peas in a pod. You both have that light. Some people are real dark, heavy. But not you, not…not Robbie. He was light. You woulda loved him.”

“Where’s he at?” You asked, reaching out a hand for him.

“How’s that?” He frowns just a little, taking it nonetheless, rushing to grasp it in his own hands.

His hands were so much bigger than yours, and you smile a little at the sight of it.

“The cemetery, which one?” You clarified, and he hums, trying to think.

“Jersey City,” He replied after searching through the memories in his brain, “He’s in Jersey City.”

“We should go, one day. One day soon, I think. We should go visit him.” You suggested, and his eyes widen just a little.

“You would go do that? You’d go with me to see him?” He asked, and your heart broke all over again, at the sheer surprise of the question.

“Yeah, I would.” You nodded, squeezing his hand real tight, scooting yourself forward on the bed enough so that you can press your forehead up against his, “I’d do anything for you.”

Pale didn’t say anything to that, just nodded his head up and down real slow, leaned in to kiss you even slower.

His lips felt like the words coolest drink against yours, and you wondered how anyone could be so cruel to him, so heartless. He was tough, yes, rough around the edges, even more so. But underneath all that – and not even very deep underneath – he was just another kicked dog desperate for love.

And as you settle against him, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you, all the aches and pains from the hard fucking all coming rushing to your joints, you decided that no matter how rough around the edges he was, you’d always give him that, that love.

* * *

You don’t remember falling asleep, but then again, does anyone? You don’t remember waking up either, and that’s always a little strange; that fleeting moment where you’re fighting the day, trying desperately to cling on to whatever little sleep you managed to get.

But the day has won, and sleep has lost this round, and you’re stretching your limbs out and rousing Pale in your wake, as you stick your freezing feet between his legs and he groaned to life.

“What day is it?” He grumbled, making you have to do mental calculations for a minute.

“Sunday?” You said, not entirely sure, but that sounded right. 

“Thank fuck.” Pale huffed, making you chuckle. Sundays were your day to be wholly and completely together, without a care in the world. Monday could be dealt with when it arrived, and all the baggage and bullshit that went with it, but Sundays were special, just for the two of you. Pale reached down and grasped your ankles, making you laugh and laugh as he pried your cold feet from his overly warm skin, asking, “Did yesterday really happen?”

“Yeah.” Your laughs died down a little, “I’m sorry.”

The both of you finally succumbed to being awake fully and completely, getting up out of bed to go walk barefoot and naked to the bathroom. Pale always let you use the toilet first, something of a gentleman. You both brushed your teeth side by side, pinching and poking at one another to make the time go by just a little bit faster, so that you could crawl back into bed together feeling more like humans.

“Why the fuck are you sorry?” Pale asked after spitting out toothpaste and rinsing his mouth, gargling alcohol disguised as mouthwash, blue into the sink.

“Because she ruined your birthday.” You replied, following suit.

“She ruins every birthday.” Pale sighed, before turning to you more fully and groping your tits right there in the bathroom, pinchin’ at your nipples as he let a small smile grace his lips when he asked for a, “Kiss?”

You were glad to see he wasn’t still so fucked up about it, last night had you worried, more worried than you’d been in a long time about him. But he was okay now, looked okay anyway. And you kissed him, with no hesitation, no thinkin’, just love.

He smiled against you more fully, pushed you up onto the bathroom counter. You winced a little as your bare ass hit the cold marble, but that shock only lasted for a moment. Pale was already wriggling his way between your legs, prying your knees open.

Surprisingly though, he didn’t shove his cock right into you like he was wont to do most mornings. No, you knew he’d fuck you later in the warm light of the living room, languid and slow. He wasn’t gentle, but he could be slow.

No, instead of fucking you right there, he instead used the grey morning light to inspect your body. A long time ago in a leaky bathtub you had once joked that a wild animal had mauled you, and you couldn’t help but feel that way now. You were covered in marks and bruises, ones he pressed his thumb into and made you hum out in pleasure-pain.

His hands roved across your skin, searching for something, you didn’t know what. You just watched his face, looked at him. You loved him like this, sleep-rumpled. His hair was a train wreck, and his face a little blotchy and red from the night before, but he was handsome and at peace, at least for the moment, before he started bitching and moaning about whatever it was that was bugging him.

You knew what he’d be bitching about today.

Eventually, he found what he was lookin’ for – scratch marks on your arm from where Barbara had grabbed you and tried to shred you up with her long acrylics. She hadn’t broken the skin or anything, but the lines were puffy and red, and he sighed.

You cupped his cheek, a silent affirmation that you didn’t care, that she wouldn’t scare you off that easily. 

“What are we gonna do about her?” You asked, and that familiar frown came back as he got all aggravated.

It was kind of a funny sight, him standing there naked, hair angry and face angry as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet, looking for a cigarette. You helped him light it, his hands a little shaky from the lack of nicotine in his system.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck she was thinking, coming here. She wants me back? Yeah fucking right, she needs something from me and is going to be a real bitch about getting whatever it is. I just don’t know what that could fuckin’ be, especially since I don’t got none of her shit in the apartment.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“How’d she even find you?” You asked, hopping down from the counter.

“Right?” He asked, shaking his head and smacking your ass lightly as you headed back into the bedroom, plopped yourself down onto the mattress. The clock read eight in the morning, slept in late once again. “It’s not like I told her my address or nothin’. But she’s been calling everyone I know tryin’ to get a god damned hold of me and it’s pissin’ me off.”

“Yeah she called here too.” You said, realizing that the woman who you had thought was the commissioner’s secretary, hadn’t been no secretary after all.

“She did?” Pale’s eyebrows shot up, and he groaned, scrubbed a hand over his face as he crawled back into bed next to you. “She called the diner, Fish thought…”

“What, did he think you were cheatin’ on me?” You grinned, so fond of that old man, of your friend. He was always looking out for you, Fish was.

“Yeah.” Pale said with a big huff and puff, puffing on his cigarette before grabbing your jaw in his hot hot hot hand, palm sweaty against your chin, “You know I’d never do that, right?”

“I know.” You want to nod but he’s holding you in place, crowding into your space, licking into your mouth. “I know. I meant what I said yesterday.”

“Which part?” He asked, voice soft.

It was a wonder, sometimes, how he could be so vulnerable. And then other times, it only made perfect sense.

“All of it.” You replied, kissing and licking right back into his, not minding the taste of Barclays one bit. You hummed against his lips for a long while, kissed and kissed, let yourself get wrapped up in the all-consuming feeling of _Pale, _before pulling away slightly and asking, “Do you send her money?”

“’Course I do.” Pale said, “She’s got the kids and everything, I can’t let them fall through the cracks.”

“How much do you send her?” You wondered, because you thought, had an inkling, that this is what it was all about.

He had gotten a lot more money recently, from his commission work. He had composed some scores for some big blockbuster movies, and was now in a deal with the Philharmonic, and you knew, you just knew, that she was here to take advantage of that – of him.

“It depends. Like two grand a month, but more for the holidays.” He scratched the back of his neck, and you froze right there in his arms.

“Holy shit.” You whispered, feeling your entire stomach sink. “Pale that’s a _lot _of money.”

You unwrapped yourself from his arms and sat up in bed, suddenly feeling the huge gap that there was between you and him.

“Yeah well, she got used to a certain lifestyle when we were married, me workin’ my fuckin’ ass off. And I didn’t want her accusing me of desertin’ her with nothin’, so I figured it’d just be easier to send her whatever she needs.” Pale shrugged, like it was nothing, like throwing away two grand was no big deal.

“How much does that leave you with?” You asked. You had never really asked about his finances, because you had figured it was never really any of your business.

You knew he had to be well off, because of the way he dressed and this penthouse and his car, but you had never figured it was this much.

“A little over six a month.” He said real quiet, catching on to why you were beginning to grow quiet.

“Christ.” You said, looking down at your fingernails, picking out something that wasn’t there from underneath them, just because the sudden realization of just _how _well off he was hit you deep in your chest, “That’s as much as I make in a year.”

Pale stubbed out the cigarette and sat up with you, chased you with his lips. You had never been embarrassed before, about anything. But for some reason, now, now it did.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” Pale said, shuffling to sit cross-legged in front of you, taking your hands in his and holdin’ em real tight as he tried to get you to look at him, “Now do you get why I want to give you nice things? Buy you nice shit?”

“I just…” You sighed, “I ain’t used to any of it, you know? Any of this. I’m comfortable with what I got, what I work for and earn. It’s more than enough for me. I can’t imagine having that kinda money, not in a million years.” You said, because it was true.

“Anything I got is yours now, you gotta know that.” Pale said, said like it was obvious, like it was the understatement of the century, “Any of my shit, my money, anything. It’s yours. I’ve been doing some thinking, and when I kick the bucket I want it all to go to you.”

“Pale I don’t like you talkin’ like that.” You shook your head, not wanting him to spiral, not wanting him to get it in his head that he’s dying any time soon.

“No no, I’m serious. I’m bein’ practical. I’m gonna get it in writing and give it all to you. God willin’, you won’t need it, because I’ll be here to give it to you. But, heaven fuckin’ forbid, if I, I dunno get shot or hit by a truck or somethin’, no one’s gonna fight you for it, it’ll all just be yours.” He said, put his hand on his heart like he was swearin’ to something he didn’t believe in, just for you.

“What about your kids?” You asked, looking at him, really looking at him.

“They got trusts set up, they’ll be fine.” He waved them off, and you bit your lip, casted you gaze out the window, to wherever Barbara was staying, spending the night, spending the day.

You wondered if she had gone right back to the airport, or if she was up running her credit card somewhere in some swanky hotel in Manhattan. You figured it was probably the latter, figured you weren’t done with her yet, not yet.

“What about your wife?” You asked, but Pale only kissed you.

“Who?” He asked, playfully, trying to get some humor back behind your eyes.

“Pale.” You said, trying your best and failing to be serious.

He cast his gaze out the window too, and then looked back at you, really looked back at you, through you, into you in that way he sometimes did when he was high off his ass and too honest.

“As far as I’m concerned, I’m lookin’ at her.” He said, and you sucked in a breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t ever gettin’ married again, no fuckin’ way. And I ain’t really about having any more kids. I did the whole American nuclear fuckin’ family white picket fence green lawn bullshit, and well. You saw how it all turned out. But you, us, this? This is more than enough for me. You wearin’ my chain and suckin’ my dick and holdin’ me and laughin’ at my jokes – that’s more than I ever got when I was married, you’re more my wife than she ever was.”

You used to think you’d be used to it, these passionate declarations of his, but you never are. You felt like the wind had been knocked out of you, and you wondered, wondered how long he had kept that speech locked inside his chest.

Outside the snow falls, but in the snowglobe, you’re safe and warm, warmed from the inside out.

You kiss him, because you can’t resist, can’t prevent it from happening, not that you want to. You kiss him because you’re afraid if you don’t, you’ll cry.

Maybe you cry a little anyway, but who’s there to judge?

He curls his hand against the nape of your neck and breathes into your mouth and you breathe back in the way that you know makes him dizzy dizzy dizzy, and your eyes are shut but still, somehow, you can see him, can see his soft brown eyes and the glint of gold around his neck, the same gold that you wear, that you’ll always wear.

When you pull apart, you’re grinning, because the words have settled deep into your bones and you feel like you’ve accidentally done a bump or two.

“I ain’t gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” You said softly, whispered against his lips, smiling smiling smiling, “But…you sure you don’t want no more kids?”

Pale huffs out a laugh against your mouth, makes a face, one you can’t really read. But it’s playful, and it’s considerate, in Pale’s own way.

“Maybe one day.” He settles on with a grumble, rolling his eyes when you laugh, but then he’s pinching your nose, your cheek, your ear, smacking a kiss to your lips as he says, “But not today.”

“Good enough for me.” You beam, moment interrupted by the loud grumbling of his stomach, which only makes you smile wider when you asked, “Breakfast?”

And when you looked at him, and he looked back, you knew that you’d be able to get through all this together. You’d figure it out, figured out what Barbara wanted, and then she’d go away, and everything would go back to normal.

But until then, until you had a plan, there really was only one thing to deal with, and Pale knew it just as well as you, and he nodded when he agreed,

“Breakfast.” 


	4. Peonies

You made challah french toast, for breakfast. Pale ain’t never had it before you, before shackin’ up with you and lovin’ you and fuckin’ you all the time. He’d never even heard of it, figured the only french toast came from brioche. It wasn’t until one mornin’ when he was staying over at your shithole apartment across the street that all you had left in the kitchen was stale braided bread and eggs, a little milk and some cinnamon – and fuck, he was hooked.

It had been hard for him at first, hard for him to let you take over, hard for him to let you cook. He was just so used to doin’ everything himself, see? He was so used to bein’ responsible, bein’ in charge, bein’ the big shot – both in the kitchen and everywhere else. But you, you ain’t no fuckin’ wallflower, you ain’t no entitled bitch or nothin’, you want to help.

So over the year the two of yous have been together – which shit, he still can’t believe it’s been a year – he’s opened up, let you step into the kitchen every now and again. Let you make your challah french toast for him, let you let him kiss off the powdered sugar that always snuck up onto your face. 

It’s real fuckin’ bizarre sometimes, watchin’ you cook for him, watchin’ you do anything domestic really. You ain’t no housewife, not by a longshot, not with the way you were standing in front of the stove with your tits out, wearin’ nothin’ but a real soft and cozy pair of cotton panties. He thinks back to the very first morning, the very first time he ever fuckin’ met you, how you had hot oil splashing splattering onto your stomach, how you ain’t even winced once.

He knew then that you were somethin’ special, somethin’ once in a lifetime, something once in a blue moon.

“What’s goin’ on in that big head of yours?” You asked, turning to look at him from the stove.

He got all caught up in it, in the sight of you. It made his palms go clammy, and he nervously wiped them on the napkin he’s got draped on one of his thighs. He couldn’t possibly tell you all the shit that’s going on in his head, all the thoughts that are running through his mind, not right now.

He’s smokin’ his cigarette down as far as it can go, emotionally fried fritzed frazzled from the bullshit that was last night. He’s afraid if he starts gettin’ all lovey-dovey, he ain’t ever gonna stop, so instead of declaring his wild passionate fuckin’ love for you like some lunatic, he smokes some more.

“Nothin’ I’m just thinkin’ about how I’m fuckin’ starving over here.” He said back. It wasn’t a lie, not really, not too big of one anyway. “You almost done sweetheart? I feel like the god damned doorman downstairs can hear my stomach rumblin’, I’m withering away to nothin’, fading into fuckin’ obscurity. You making eggs too? Or nah because there’s already too many eggs in the batter? Do we even have any more eggs? I know I made the omlette for you the other day but I can’t for the fuckin’ life of me remember how many I used.”

“We have eggs,” You replied, took his fast-talkin’ easily, hands already reachin’ for the carton where he could sneak a peek at a couple brown shells nestled into the cardboard as you asked, “You want scrambled?”

“Yeah, with the – ” He started but you just tossed him a smile that shut him up real quick, just because fuck you’re so _pretty. _

“Whites fully cooked, I know honey.” You replied simply.

And wasn’t that something? Wasn’t it so fuckin’ crazy, that you knew? That you knew how he liked his eggs, that you knew what he meant whenever he was trying to say everything but his actual thoughts? He needed to get high, he thought to himself, needed to snort something straight up his fuckin’ nose or else he’d maybe lose it.

The bullshit with Barbie had him worried. It had him on edge, had him pissed the fuck off. Why did shit like this always happen to him, he thought to himself. Why did life gotta go and fuck up the one good thing he had – this thing with you.

He got up then, rummaged around in one of the drawers near where you’re standing, smacked your ass on the way. The little mirror and razor were right where he left them, the little thing of coke exactly where it should be. You don’t get bothered one bit by the way he bends over the mirror and sucks it straight up through the tight vacuum of a dollar bill. You only kissed him on the cheek as he went back to the table.

“Hey, I was thinkin’.” You started again, serving him up a big plate.

You did shit like this sometimes, little arrangements like this, on his plate for breakfast. Maybe to someone else it looked stupid, looked silly, but to Pale, the little banana smiley face with raspberry eyes coulda brought him to tears if he weren’t so out of salt.

“What were you thinkin’ baby?” Pale asked, feelin’ sweaty, feelin’ like he was on top of the world, like he was skyrocketing up up up into space. His veins were thrumming, and the slap of his hand on his thigh as he called for you to sit on his lap echoed like thunder in his ears.

“If the weather ain’t too bad today, maybe you and me take a trip to Jersey City. Go visit your brother.” You said, catching him entirely off-guard.

He had thought…well surely you hadn’t…he can’t wrap his brain around it. Around you. He coulda sworn, woulda bet money, that you had meant going to the cemetery in some abstract way. Some far away way, some hypothetical way. Not that you’d actually want to go now, go soon, go at all.

“You meant that?” He stared at you long and hard, but you ain’t acting like nothing out of the ordinary, you’re perfectly serious.

“We don’t have to, I just figured it’s been a long time since you’ve gone to see him, you know? Figured maybe since it’s Sunday and we don’t got shit to do anyway, it might be a nice opportunity.” You shrugged, scooping a big fork-ful of scrambled eggs into your mouth.

You’re looking at him with those soft eyes that has him pinching your nose hard, has him givin’ your face a little shake, because if he doesn’t, if he doesn’t get his hands on you and prove that you’re here, that you’re not just some hallucination of his drug-addled brain, he might scream.

“You do a lot of figurin’, huh?” Pale replied, and you laughed, kissed his cheek before sliding into the seat next to him at the table so he can have free mobility to cut up his food.

“I’m not just a pretty face you know.” You smirked, looking very much like the cat that got the cream, a damn spoiled princess.

“No, but you are real pretty.” He said, leaning over to lick at the corner of your mouth where some syrup had collected there, his teeth worrying you, making you laugh.

“Eat your eggs.” You shooed his face away for all of two seconds before cupping his cheeks with both hands and smacking a loud kiss to his lips that had the both of you shaking your head fondly at one another.

Despite that though, despite the kissin’ and the lovin’, and the frankly fuckin’ delicious breakfast you made for him, his blood ran cold. The thought of going to the cemetery, the thought of seeing the headstone…it churned his stomach. He hadn’t – there hadn’t been time – he wasn’t sure.

He didn’t know if he’d be welcome there, didn’t know if Robbie would want him, considerin’. But you’re right, it’d be good. It’d be real good. He should go, he could go, if you were with him.

“We can take the car, when we’re done eatin’. I’m sure you ain’t gonna want to stay there for too long, hangin’ around a fuckin’ graveyard in the cold and all, and god knows the public fuckin’ transportation would take hours to bring us there and back. I got a real good spot right on the street behind the building, it’s in the shade so the fuckin’ leather don’t fade or nothing – had to fight a guy for it, we played that stupid shitty game of who could round the corner first. I won because he was comin’ from the other fuckin’ direction and woulda had to make a three point turn, even though really it woulda been a fuckin’ ten-pointer or some shit like that. You know how tight that alley is.”

He doesn’t know how to shut up when he’s around you, doesn’t know how to get the words to slow down. Especially when the hit is so good, when he feels like king of the fuckin’ world, when he feels like there ain’t not one single ounce of bad on the whole planet. He’s rambling, he knows he is, isn’t even sure if he’s saying all this shit out loud, or if it’s all in his head.

It’s loud, either way.

It didn’t matter, either way.

“Remember when I sucked your dick in the Mickey-Ds drive through?” You asked, getting his attention, grabbing it in that way you’ve gotten real good at doing.

Sometimes he got too stuck in his own head, could go on and on and on and sometimes to a point where maybe he needed help getting out of it, needed help coming back to the present. You always did that for him, said some shit like that to jolt him out of a potential spiral.

He wanted to scream.

“Yeah that was hot.” He said instead, licking his lips instead, pulling you into his lap again instead. He didn’t like that, didn’ tlike that you went so far away, all the way in the seat next to him. His hands shook as he groped you, sucked more syrup off your tongue, wished it were your come. “You’re a perfect whore, ain’t ya?”

“Damn right I am.” You nodded, your shoulders curling in towards him, your tits pushing into his clammy hands. “And I’m yours.”

“Damn right you are.” He echoed you, kissed you hard.

God he was so fucking hard, had been hard for you the second you stood behind the stove, the second you started flipping the fuckin’ french toast. He had just fucked you, he knew that. It hadn’t even been an hour, and yet.

And yet.

Maybe it was the coke racing through him, maybe it was the way your skin looked so fuckin’ pretty in the sunrise of morning, maybe it was the way you were smilin’ at him, he didn’t fucking know. All he knew was that he was hard.

“Let me?” You asked, slinking down onto your knees, crawling under the table like you did at some of the fancy fucking restaurants he brought you to, settling between his sprawled legs.

In between the time he fucked you and the time you made breakfast, the two of yous had decided to put on some underwear. Pale wasn’t a stickler for too much, but food safety was one of the things he was bitchy about, adamant about, and he didn’t want your unprotected pussy anywhere near open flame.

He regretted that decision now, him wearin’ his fancy fuckin’ Versace briefs. He wished he were wearing Y-fronts or some shit like that, because you’re nuzzling your face into his dick, nosing and mouthing along the hard line of his cock, and he’s gotta fuckin’ stand up enough to shove the underwear down his thighs.

The second he does though, your mouth is on him like moth to a fuckin’ flame, and you blow him right there in the kitchen.

“God look at you, look at this perfect fucking slut. My slut, jesus your mouth is so good.” His head lolls back against the wooden frame of the chair, and he practically fuckin’ melts into your touch.

One of his hands shoves your head down further, makes you gag on his cock, makes spit and drool and slobber wet his stomach where you’re being pressed down down down. It’s music to his fuckin’ ears, and he ain’t in any position to stop the little thrusts of his hips when they come, when his cock demands to be buried as deep in your throat as he can.

“Yeah, that’s it, choke on my cock, fuckin’ gag on it, you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He grunted.

Sometimes you look up at him, and he blows his load right away. Sometimes you’ll glance up at him through your lashes and you’ll look so thoroughly wrecked, so absolutely fuckin’ destroyed by his cock, that he can’t help it, can’t help but shoot his come all over you. Sometimes he comes down your throat, sometimes he comes across your cheek, sometimes he comes on your tongue.

He can’t fucking decide which one he wants now, but you’re looking at him, and he’s going to come in a fucking second because the coke is ripping through his system and his veins are burning and he’s so fucking hot, hot from the inside out, hot like the walls of your throat, your cunt. God he wishes he could fuck your cunt.

“Up, come on,” He urged as he pulled out of you suddenly, having made his decision, wanting to come in your pussy, stuff you full with it for the second time that morning.

He hoisted you up off the floor, and you already know what’s happening, already are bending yourself over the table easily for him as he scraped the chair against the flooring in his haste to come in you. There ain’t no better fucking feeling, he’s decided, than sinking his cock into your tight cunt and coming with your pussy clenching around him. Nothing could possibly beat it, nothing could even come close, he’s made up his mind.

That was, until the high from his coke started to fade, and you shimmied your hips back against him, your soft ass rubbing against his abs from where he’s still buried inside you, and you grin at him as he dumps his come into you.

That smile would always be the best, he thinks.

* * *

When he’s calm enough to drag you into the big fancy fuckin’ shower, when he’s dressed, when you’re waiting with a hand outstretched and a smile, the two of yous leave the apartment.

His car is parked right where he fuckin’ left it, thank god. Ain’t no scratches or anything on it either, which is always something he’s worried about. Whether they were accidental or malicious, he think he’d burn the fuckin’ building down if someone scratched his car.

You don’t say nothin’ much on the drive out of town. It ain’t too far, a little less than an hour with little traffic. You don’t say much, just let him talk, let him get his nerves out. Fuck he was so nervous – he didn’t think he would be, not after the good morning he had, but he is.

“He loved peonies.” Pale said randomly, referring to the flowers he had stopped to pick up on the way.

He ran his hand through his hair at a red light as the two of you sit listenin’ to the classical music he’s got playing from the tape player in the dashboard. You’ve got your hand in his, and you give it a squeeze, something small and affectionate that has him nervous.

“He liked the pink ones, ever since he was a kid. We had a little garden, nothin’ too fancy or nothin’. But ma would tend to it and Robbie always asked her to cut some of the pretty pink peonies to put in the vases in the house, and she always would.”

“A garden sounds real nice. We didn’t have a very big backyard growin’ up, but most of the space was used for the above-ground pool.” You replied, reaching up with your free hand to tuck some hair behind his ear.

“You like swimmin’?” He asked you, practically floorin’ it when the light turned green again, the steady feeling of road under his feet helping along with the very presence of you to attempt to soothe him.

“In the summer-time, yeah.” You nodded, spoke softly, quietly. He appreciated that, he thought to himself, appreciated your delicacy. Fuck knows Pale ain’t never been delicate in his whole life.

“I’m gonna take you to the beach, bring you out to Montauk, to the beaches.” He said, eyes on the road, eyes flitting back and forth between you and the cars in front of him.

He’d been wantin’ to take you somewhere nice and warm for a while, wanted to take you all over the country, all over the whole globe. He wanted to see you in the bright sunshine and the sparkling water, wanted to see you the way he saw you in his dream, lips dark red with cherry cola and bruised up from his own teeth.

“Okay.” You replied with a smile, “Only if you go in the ocean with me.”

“Course, who the fuck else is gonna protect you from gettin’ eaten up by the sharks?” Pale scoffed, as if that much were obvious, as if he’d let you go too far away from him. Couldn’t have you getting’ drowned or eaten up – he was the only one allowed to eat you.

You gave him a look though, readin’ him in a way that he still doesn’t really know how you do it, and you give his hand another squeeze. When he looked at you, spared a glance to your pretty face from the road, he don’t find that soft affectionate smile, he finds sad eyes.

“What’s the matter?” You asked.

He huffed out a long breath, let the tension in his shoulders try and melt away. Of course you could tell something was off, you could always tell. You probably knew right from when he was all antsy and shit at the kitchen table. He couldn’t get anything past you, not that he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“I don’t know, I’m nervous.” He said, under-fuckin’-statement of the century. “I ain’t seen him since he died, you know? I haven’t, there hadn’t been any time to go visit, between the fuckin’ restaurant and meetin’ you and the composing. I – you know I meant to. I meant to go see him, I don’t know where the year went, how it flew by so fuckin’ fast.”

You nodded, understanding, always so understanding.

“We can sit in the car for a minute, when we get there. It’s okay.” You assure him, wanting him to have all the time he needs. You were good about that – you’re good about everything – giving him the time he needs. “There ain’t no rush honey, no worries.”

And he snorts a dark laugh at that, because there really ain’t a rush when you’ve got an appointment with the dead, is there?

“What if he don’t want to see me?” He asked, mostly to himself, mostly the get the fear off his chest.

Because he knew, deep down he knew, there were reasons why.

“Did you always know? That he was gay I mean.” You asked, as he gets off the main road, as he follows the signs for the cemetery.

You ain’t the only ones taking the opportunity of a Sunday afternoon to go pay respects. He didn’t know if he liked that better or worse, there being other people there. Didn’t know if he wanted them all seeing him, didn’t know if he wanted witnesses to his own grief.

“Yeah.” Pale said soft, real soft, his heart beating at the memory of it all as he slows the car down, searches the parking lot for a fucking space. He felt like he spent most of his god damned adult life, just looking for a place to park.

“Yeah I knew. We all knew, even though he didn’t really tell nobody about it. I was worried, you know? Worried for him for a long fuckin’ time. I wasn’t too nice about it, because I was so worried. It makes me a shit brother, I know. I wish I wasn’t so not-nice. I thought the mob had done it, when I first heard he had died. Thought for fuckin’ sure they had put a hit out on him, on his boyfriend or somethin’. We got mob ties in the family, I ain’t crazy, I know what they think of gay kids like Robbie was. That’s why I think he don’t want to see me, because of how not-nice I was.”

Pale rushed the words out, worried that if he stopped he’d scream, if he stopped you’d have time to call him an asshole, a jackass, a bastard. Because he’s said shit, done shit, shit he ain’t proud of.

Even as an adult, even when there was Larry and –

He cut that train of thought off straight away. He didn’t want to think about some dancer in a loft somewhere, or how sore his heart had been for some love when he met her. No, he’s got no use for those memories, he thought to himself, as he put the car into park.

But you don’t call him an asshole, or a jackass, or a bastard. You don’t even frown at him.

“You can’t change what happened in the past, you can only learn and grow from it.” You say, after some consideration. He didn’t know why his heart was beatin’ like he had snorted another bump, had licked up the coke from under his nails, had picked it out from between his teeth. Because he hadn’t, but you, you gave him that rush, all the time.

“And you have, you know? You have. You ain’t the same person you were, don’t got the same thoughts about it. I know you don’t.” You continued, giving him one of your looks that he swore went straight through to his soul, if he ever had one.

“Feels like it don’t matter now though. He’s gone now.” Pale whispered, not really one for bein’ too quiet or nothing.

He turned the car off, the engine cutting and making it so much more quiet than Pale ever really had experienced before. Even in the church for the funeral, it wasn’t this quiet. You glance back to the bouqet of peonies that Pale had lovingly buckled in the backseat.

“Maybe, but someone becoming a better person isn’t ever in vain.” You replied, looking back to him, telling him it was okay, he was okay, you were with him.

He didn’t know what the fuck he’d do with himself, if you weren’t with him.

“I think I’m okay to go over now.” He sighed, squinting up at the sky.

It wasn’t set to snow or nothin’, not set to rain. It was cold out, but it wasn’t bitter, wasn’t frigid. Something in Pale made him wonder if Robbie had done that for him, for you, had wanted the weather to be nice for the visit. Maybe he was crazy.

He didn’t know.

“Want me to carry the flowers honey?” You asked, unbuckling your seat-belt, smiling at him, proud of him.

You knew, he knew you knew that this was hard, this was tough. You had never even met the guy, but you didn’t have to to know it was tough.

“No, I got it.” He said, shakin’ his head and getting out of the car too. He watched you walk around the front of the car, watched you adjust the lapels on your trench coat and watched you fix the fingers of your gloves so you wouldn’t get nothin’ like frostbite or nothin’, and in watchin’ you fix your gloves he chewed his lip, “Could you just…”

“Yeah?” You asked, when he trailed off, when he had a hard time finishing the question.

“Just hold my fuckin’ hand, would you?” He finally spit it out.

You could have mocked him for it, he knows. You could have teased and laughed all good-naturedly like you do, because he’s always complainin’ that all you ever want to do is hold his fucking hand. He’s always grumbling grunting bitching moaning about how he ain’t never held someone’s hand as much as he holds yours. But you don’t, you don’t mock him for it, and doesn’t even know why he thought you would.

You’re too good for him, he knew that.

He loves you, he knew that too.

* * *

It took a while, to find the headstone. The fuckin’ cemetery had a map, that’s how big it was. A morbid “you are here” pointin’ to the parkin’ lot, listing and charting out all the different pathways leading to all the different graves.

But you ain’t in any rush, just like you said, and in the time it took to find the headstone, all you did was hold his hand. The cemetery was busy, but not so busy that it was loud. Somethin’ about it made Pale’s heart kinda heavy, but kinda light at the same time. So many people all comin’ to see someone they lost. Maybe they lost ‘em last week, maybe they lost ‘em ten years ago, he didn’t fuckin’ know. But he liked that whoever they were, they had people who still cared enough to visit.

He felt real fuckin’ bad, waiting so long before visiting.

The whole thing hits him all over again, when he finds it, the headstone. There it was, shiny and polished, looked after. It had his name etched into it, had the dates he had graced this planet, and Pale didn’t even realize it when the cold thing of a tear slipped down his cheek.

You’re standing with him, your hand in his, your head resting on his shoulder. You’re standing there and you’re cryin’ too. You ain’t never even met him, but you didn’t have to, to cry.

Pale took in a deep breath, let it out real slow and shaky, didn’t even fuckin’ bother to hide it. He wanted a cigarette, he wanted to kiss you. He didn’t know what he wanted.

He wanted his brother back.

There are peonies placed at the grave already, proof of someone else already bein’ there, already havin’ visited. He wondered when they had come, wondered when they had visited, how often. He wondered who it was, which of his family. Wondered, given the nature of things, if it were any of his family at all.

Well, he thought to himself as he sniffed up some tears that leaked outta his nose, Jimmy was here now for him.

Pale placed the new bouquet right next to the old one, chewed his lip as he tried figuring out how to prop them up nicely. Robbie woulda known how to do it, how to arrange them, he thought with a small smile, he woulda known how to make it look nice.

You surprised him then, by stepping forward. You look around the headstone, searching for something. He frowned when you picked up a rock, big and smooth, weathered by the snow and rain and fuck knows what else. You placed the rock on top of the headstone, placed it carefully, before stepping back and regaining hold of his hand.

“What’s that for?” He wondered aloud, searching your face.

“There are men with hearts of stone, and stones with the heart of men.” You said easily, the two of your regarding the little rock, your own small offering to a man you never knew. “Flowers wilt and fade, but stones don’t die, and neither will our memory of him.”

He nodded, suddenly getting choked up about it, about it all over again.

The two of yous were quiet for a long time, just standing there, each in your own bubble. Pale can’t help but think about the whole life he knew with his brother, his baby brother, little Robbie.

“It wasn’t a boat crash, you know.” Pale said, lighting a cigarette.

It wasn’t a crash, wasn’t anything that dramatic. He wished it were, wished it were something that instant, something that sudden, not the slow painful death of disease and decay that it had really been. No one wanted to talk about that, about the disease, but Pale knew.

“I know.” You said, because you knew too.

* * *

He didn’t really know what the difference was, anymore. Couldn’t tell sometimes with how fucked up he got, what was real and what wasn’t. He thought he was in a dream, was pretty sure he’s in a dream, because it’s too fuckin’ sunny for Queens that time of year, too warm. He’s sweatin’, he could feel that, knows that that’s real. His eyes were closed, in the maybe dream, they’re closed but everything was still too bright, like a sun that didn’t want to just go behind a fuckin’ cloud already. He’s sweatin’ and smokin’ a cigarette, eyes shut tight against the sun and something – someone was playin’ with his hair, was laughin’ at the faces he’s makin’, and he thought that if this is a dream, suddenly it’s a good one, because you’re there.

He dared to open his eyes in the dream, dared to squint at the too-blue world around him. Definitely a dream then, he thought, because there ain’t no way Queens was this blue – not even in the summer. It’s you, because of course it is, and you were sipping dark cherry soda that stained your tongue all red, made your teeth pink from it. He’s blinded from the sunshine of your fuckin’ smile, the whole of his vision nothin’ but you, but the way your hair fell forward and framed your face.

He wrestled you down on top of him in his own mind, yanked your head down by the scruff of your neck to plant a sticky kiss to your lips, a kiss that had you melting against him like you were putty in his hands, because you were. His good girl, you were.

He kissed you under the blazing heat of the sun, tongue sliding against yours in the dream until it ain’t just a dream anymore, and that hot sunshine fades away, and he grew more and more aware of the real world around him, grew more and more aware of you really climbing all over him, of you really kissin’ on him.

“Pale honey, you gotta get up.” Your voice echoed in his head, and he fought against it, fought against the urge to wake up and face the fuckin’ day when all he wanted was to spend the whole time with you.

But it was Monday, and Monday meant work managing the diner, and work at the diner meant he needed to get the fuck out of bed and away from your arms and he’s already frownin’ when he felt the last of that brightness slip away.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” He grumbled, scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned out in aggravation, “Why’d I give myself these hours?”

He knew it was too fuckin’ early, it had to be. The sun wasn’t even over the damn skyline yet, the birds weren’ fuckin’ chirpin’, no one was awake – so why the hell was he?

“Because you’re a hard workin’ man. Go on.” You smiled at him, and dammit that smile really just made everything better, didn’t it?

It had to have, because soon enough he was smoothin’ his big hands up your sides, up your stomach from where you were straddling his hips, and he had half a mind to fuck you real hard right there, just like that. From his view your tits were beggin’ to be bitten, to be touched, and he sat up to bury his face in your cleavage, unable to resist.

“Honey,” You nudged him gently, scratched at his scalp with one hand and tried to untangle his long limbs from around your middle with the other.

“Nah you gotta come with.” He sniffed and snuffled and grumbled, only burying his face deeper into your flesh, reveling in the way they pressed against his cheeks, how he could barely breath, suffocatin’ from your perfect fuckin’ tits. “I ain’t gettin’ up without you.”

“Alright alright, I’ll come.” You laughed, practically pryin’ his head away from you by his hair, greasy and in desperate need of a wash. He could feel it, could feel the locks goin’ piecey, but he didn’t fuckin’ care, he’d have breakfast and then rail you and then fuck you in the shower, that was all. He’s so trans-fuckin’-fixed by the way your naked body looks as you climb off of him and slide off the bed, that he almost misses it when you ask, “Coffee?”

The thought of caffeine suddenly sounds fuckin’ divine, and he’s throwin’ off the single bedsheet away from his overheated body real quick to pad across the cold floor and follow you out the door and into the kitchen.

“Yeah.” He yawns, agitated and aggravated and really just wantin’ to fuck you over the counter. Maybe he would, especially with the way you’re lookin’ as you reach into one of the cabinets and pull out the coffee grounds. He huffs to himself, steals a cigarette from the stash he keeps in the kitchen, lights it on the stove and puffs out a few plumes of smoke before chucklin’ dryly to himself and sayin’, “You know I used to hate coffee?”

He expected you to be scandalized at that, or even surprised, even just a little shocked. With how much coffee he consumes now, but all you do is laugh brightly as you measured out the perfect amount of grounds to chuck into the coffee filter, throwin’ a smile over your shoulder when you tell him,

“I know.”

“Bullshit, how’d you know?” He asked, comin’ round the small island to stand too close behind you, pressed himself right up against you as you poured water from the sink into the pot to pour through the filter too.

“First night I was here, not a single fuckin’ box of joe anywhere. Nothin’ but tea.” You laughed again, wriggled your hips against his dick, the two of yous still very naked. You had a bad case of the giggles this mornin’ apparently, and Pale was far too amused to really put a real stop to it, so all he does instead is pull your back to his chest and clamp a hand over your throat so he could feel the way your laugh vibrated through his sweaty palm.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny about that?” He asked, lettin’ his other hand wander down down down your body, ‘till his fingers were toying right with the folds of your cunt.

He could finger you like this, he really could, and he does, because your laughs are breathless until they’re not laughs at all, until they’re just moans. Music to his fuckin’ ear, he thinks, as he fingers you, could let out a laugh of his own with the way you press your ass harder against his cock, cock that was now rigid and full just for you.

“I’m just picturing you with your big hands holding a tiny teacup.” You said between all your little gasps and moans, still got some frame of mind to be real fuckin’ smart as you grin up at him with your head on his shoulder, nipples rock hard against the chill of the air when you ask, “Do you want tea?”

He sucked his teeth, turned you around and hoisted you up on that very same counter, and you made a playfully annoyed face at the way the cold granite hit your bare ass for only a moment before he’s prying your knees apart, dragging you to the edge so he can line the head of his cock up real nice.

“Nah, coffee’s fine.” He said as he pushed himself all the way in, all in in one big slow strong thrust that had your nails digging into his back, had your mouth droppin’ open into that pretty little face you make whenever he gets his cock in you.

“But you hate it.” You said around your big sigh of pleasure, shifting around to give him a better angle, letting yourself lay back against the cabinets, careful not to smack your head.

He started thrusting in earnest then, wrapped your legs around his hips and made you hold his cigarette for him as he sucked dark red marks into your throat, your shoulders. He wanted to splay you out real pretty and fuck you with his face in your tits but the cabinet was in the fuckin’ way and he wasn’t in the mood to move you.

“I used to.” He groaned, groaned when your tongue and lips laved themselves over the gold chain necklace he wore every day, the same fuckin’ one you had clasped around your throat, matching like two sides of the same damn coin. He groaned and fucked you harder, punched moans out of you, your hands scrabbling for purchase on his back, scracthin’ him up, stingin’ him real nice when he says, “I like the way you brew it.”

“I just – oh Pale! Harder – I just push buttons on the machine.” Your throat clicked and he spit in your open mouth, gave you somethin’ to swallow, and you did, you always did.

“Yeah well you do a real good fuckin’ job.” He panted into your mouth, makin’ your face pinch up in that way that meant you were gonna come soon, and he loves the feeling of you comin’ but he decided in that moment that he loved the taste of it even better, and since this was supposed to be breakfast and he was starvin’, he wasted no time in pullin’ out of you just as your pussy started to gush.

“Pale!” You cried out in dissatisfaction at being so empty all of a sudden, so empty right when you needed him, so empty right as you came, but he only bit the inside of your thigh hard to shut you up and let you know somethin’ good was coming.

He shoved his tongue deep into your cunt, his nose rubbing up against your clit making you moan out high and loud, already over the edge and this just makin’ it even more fuckin’ good. His tongue stroked your walls while his hands were busy steadying himself against your thighs – steadying you so you wouldn’t go kneeing him in the fuckin’ face or nothing.

When your pussy had stopped pulsing around his mouth, he pulled back enough to jerk himself off. He pressed one of your knees down against the counter to keep your legs spread, and with his other hand stroked himself right to the edge, right to where his balls were tightening up and his stomach went all hot and he knew he was gonna come – and then he nudged the tip of his cock right back into you, shot his load inside you.

He fucked it into you, just a few lazy hazy dreamy thrusts, just enough to really get it deep in there, into that cunt he was so fuckin’ addicted to.

He came in you and stayed in you for a long while, until the coffee pot beeped and you couldn’t help but break out into a sweaty laugh, hair sticking to your face and your eyes too fuckin’ bright. Pale didn’t laugh, still too wrapped up in the feelin’ of you around him, but he did suck his teeth again, the sight of you bein’ so sweet too much for him.

“Come here, gimme a kiss.” He said, as if you were so far away and not warmin’ his cock right on the counter.

But nevertheless you sat up enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissed him square on the lips over and over until his tongue decided to make an appearance once again, made you taste yourself on him, made you moan.

“You gonna drive into the city?” You asked, breakin’ away to breathe for a minute, and Pale groaned, forgetting all about work.

“Nah, I’m takin’ the train.” He said instead, runnin’ his hand through his hair, knowin’ he needed to really get a fuckin’ move-on with the shower and the changin’ and all the other morning routine bullshit.

“Will you walk with me to the diner, or’s there no time?” You asked, suddenly shy for some fuckin’ reason.

“There’s time, of course there’s fuckin’ time. Of course I’ll walk with ya, I always walk with ya.” He said, cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissin’ you real hard, wantin’ to wash away whatever worry that was that he saw flashing in your eyes.

He didn’t want you worryin’ about nothin’ – about him, or fuckin’ Barbie, or no one else. He’d walk you like he always walked you.

“Okay okay.” You smiled against his lips, laughing when he got too insistent, when those hips of his started to move again, his cock still in you, growin’ hard again, “Okay!”

“Okay?” He asked, wantin’ to make sure you were fine, you were happy. He’d kill someone, anyone, for you if you were unhappy.

But you smiled again and even though he had his cock in you, even though you could feel his big fuckin’ muscles all around you, you leaned over on the counter and plucked up the empty mugs you had washed last night, poured you and him a couple cups o’ joe, and handed one to him like the two of yous were sittin’ at a booth in the diner, and not stark fuckin’ naked in his kitchen.

“Okay.” You said, clinking the mugs together in a little toast to the morning.

And maybe he did hate coffee at one point, but as he slips and slides out of you with a groan, he found he don’t mind the dark roast so bad anymore, not when it’s you who’s makin’ it.

* * *

Later, when you’re dressed, after you’re showered and cleaned up and blow-dried real pretty, he does walk with you like always. It’s too fuckin’ dangerous to go out by yourself, especially around here, around these parts. He snorted to himself as he smoked his cigarette, wind biting at where his face was exposed, he sometimes had no fuckin’ clue what he was sayin’ – _around these parts. _What was he, from some god damned wild west flick starrin’ the one and only Clint Eastwood?

You gave him a funny glance at the sound of his snort, and he gave you one right back.

“You lookin’ at _me_ like that?” He asked, playful but with a scowl on his face.

“Yeah, what’re you gonna do about it?” You asked, swinging your joined hands back and forth, back and forth – until Pale let go of you long enough to snatch you around your thighs and chuck you over his shoulder, making you squeal out a laugh and a, “Pale!”

He carried you like that for a minute or two, gave your body a shake making you laugh and laugh, before setting you down on the sidewalk carefully.

“Yeah yeah keep teasin’ me doll, watch what happens.” He said, smoking around his smile, not wantin’ no one to see.

He had no fuckin’ clue how he got so lucky with you. Every day felt like a dream, no lie, no joke. But you laughed with him instead of at him and you were the first person to do that in damn near a decade, at least to do it and really mean it. You were the first person to really mean anything, to him.

“You know it’s really too fuckin’ cold out here, you sure you don’t want my jacket?” Pale asked, cigarette glowing red in the grey air, snow falling but not harshly enough to cancel work or nothin’, “Because honestly the last fuckin’ thing I need is for you to get sick or somethin’, now I know it’s big on ya but I don’t care I think you should wear it, at least ‘til we get to the diner. Fish keeps the heat on in there right? You won’t be freezin’ or nothin’ behind the milkshake counter? Do people even drink milkshakes in this hour? Maybe if he keeps the heat on they do. Hey did you know – ”

“Shit!” You suddenly dipped out of view, not that you managed to obstruct his vision too much anyway, bein’ much shorter than him.

But you were cursin’ on the ground, having landed flat on your ass, wincing.

“Fuck – (Y/N), you okay?” He rushed to help you up, steadied you with his hands on your arms, and you were only laughin’ again.

You were always easy breezy.

He thought about the way you had looked Saturday night, a woman possessed, and his chest filled with pride, with adoration. You were so sweet, so soft and patient and kind, but you knew how to fuckin’ throw hands and he respected that in a woman.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Damn ice.” You brushed the snow off your ass, made sure none of it melted into your coat. You still wore it, that red trench coat, the one you had bought second hand from who the fuck knows where.

He still thought you should be wearin’ his leather jacket instead.

“You want me to beat the shit out of it?” He asked, jokingly, glad about your good mood. He didn’t ever want you shoutin’ like you’d been shoutin’, ever again.

“Yeah honey, let’s go fight Jack Frost.” You rolled your eyes, and began swatting at his arm when he immediately began to punch the snow in front of yous.

“I’ll fuck him up you know I will.” Pale joked back, face schooled real serious.

“Yeah I bet you will hot shot.” You bump your hip against his, and the two of you chuckled, breath foggin’ up in the cold.

He walked with you, always. Wouldn’t miss opportunities like this for the world, not for one fuckin’ second.

And when you laughed with him, when you held his hand, when you kept up with him bright as a tack and twice as sharp, he coulda woulda vowed then and there to walk with you to the ends of the earth.


	5. The Other Woman

He smiled a lot, on the walk to the diner. It wasn’t much further, but he smiled the whole way. That was somethin’ real rare for Pale, to be smiling for that long. Even in bed he didn’t grin the way he was grinning now.

He didn’t let go of your hand the whole way, kept an even tighter grip on you after your accidental slip. These were new heels, and you shoulda broke them in longer than you did, they weren’t all scuffed up on the bottom like your old pairs were.

But you didn’t mind too much, not if it meant Pale got to hold you tight the way he was. Whenever the two of yous walked, he always made sure you were on the inside, never on the street-side. He always made sure, didn’t want you gettin’ hurt or hit or nothing, even though you ain’t never seen a car come up onto the sidewalk before.

It was sweet of him to worry though, and you didn’t complain, just held his hand and laughed and smiled with him all the way to the diner.

When you finally got there, and he smacked at your hand for trying to open the door yourself, you gasped in so much surprise that Pale immediately stiffened into a fight-or-flight mode that had you chuckling, especially because you had been gasping at,

“Chaya!” You rush to the small woman’s side, opening your arms for a hug that she eagerly accepted, “My god it’s been so long!”

Chaya, Fish’s wife, almost never came to the diner. She always said she never liked the smell of it, of all that cooking oil and grease. You saw her occasionally of course, whenever you’d spend the holidays with them and random dinners, but seeing her in the diner was a novelty.

“(Y/N) it’s so good to see you, you look gorgeous – are those new shoes?” Chaya had a habit of complimenting you whenever she saw you, fawned over you like a granddaughter she didn’t have.

You always let her, because well, before Pale, you didn’t get complimented all that much, and it felt good to be recognized, even if it was from a tiny Jewish woman that looked at you through glasses that were an inch thick.

“Yeah, my old heels were fallin’ apart, walked in the snow one too many times with them.” You explained as you showed off the pretty heels you had bought yourself – you hadn’t accepted any of Pale’s money for them, you saved up and up and up for them and finally, after a good couple of months you were able to spend that hard earned cash on something nice and new for yourself.

“Ohhh,” Chaya said appreciatively at the way you turned your ankles so she could see the black patent leather and red bottoms. Chaya had always had a very New York style, very chic. Her hair was a bleach blonde cloud teased to perfection on top of her head, and her clothing was always heavily beaded to the point where you were sure you could see her from a mile away – just the same as you could see Pale, who she was eyeing up and down just as appreciatively, “And who is this?”

“This is my man Pale.” You said happily, pride making you bashful as Pale stuck his cigarette in between in teeth to extend his free hand for a shake.

“Big strong and handsome! I’ve heard so much about you but oy nothin’ about how tall you are!” Chaya laughed at his grip, gave him a wink.

“Heard only bad things I hope.” Pale winked right back, and you couldn’t help but let a little laugh out through your nose at how charming he really was, even with little old bubbies.

“The worst.” Chaya teased, before sighing and putting her hands on her hips, getting right to the point: “Fishel ain’t here today honey, he’s feelin’ a little under the weather.”

“Sick how? Is he okay?” Your smile dropped, fearing the worst.

“Don’t worry about him honey he’s going to be fine.” Chaya scoffed and waved her hands around, “His allergies are just acting up is all. You know I always tell him to take a Benadryl in the winter-time but he never listens to me. Men!”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be running the diner today.” You raised your eyebrows, but she only scoffed again, making you sigh in relief.

“Me? God no.” She said as if she were offended, before jabbing her thumb in your man’s direction and saying, “I was actually wonderin’ if your man Mr. Pale wouldn’t mind taking over here.”

“I would love to but I gotta be at the one in the city.” Pale shook his head, took a deep drag of his cigarette.

“No you don’t, my nephew is going to cover for you today.” Chaya countered, making the both of your eyebrows shoot up then.

“Nephew?” Pale asked, cocking his head towards her as if his ear wasn’t close enough.

“Little Joshua’s hopin’ to go into the restaurant business like his uncle isn’t that so precious?” She put her hand over her chest, “Well I say little, he’s thirty and back from a stint overseas. He wants to open up his own place for the vets, bless him.”

“So let me get this straight,” Pale asked a little too aggressively, “You want me to stay here and manage the diner today, while your nephew manages the diner in Manhattan?”

“Is that gonna be a problem?” Chaya asked back, just as aggressively, and you had to admit it was funny seeing him back down. Not even the big bad Pale was a match for a stubborn Jewish woman with a plan.

“Problem?” Pale put his hands up in surrender, making you laugh as he quickly said, “No, no problem at all. None whatsoever.”

“Good, then I’m off.” She brightened up considerably, dropping the serious act right away. She leaned over for you to give her a big kiss on the cheek as you always did, and patted yours when you pulled away enough. “It was so good seein’ ya honey, come by for dinner one of these nights, okay?”

“Okay Chaya, send my love.” You said, opening and holding the door for her.

You waited until she got into her tiny sedan and drove away, before turning to Pale and putting your hands on your hips in much the same manner.

“What was that all about?” You asked, wondering why he had given attitude.

“You ain’t never seen me work before, you know that?” He scratched the back of his neck, chewed on the inside of his cheek as he smoked smoked smoked his cigarette.

“You see me work all the time.” You pointed out, walking towards the back to go get your apron and your little hat, putting both on so your uniform was complete.

Pale followed you, snatched the sash of your apron out of your hands and gently tied it into a pretty bow for you so you didn’t have to.

“I know but that’s different, you ain’t gotta yell at anybody.” He said, and your heart warmed at his soft tone.

“Is that it? You don’t want me seein’ you get all angry?” You turn to face him, loop your arms up and over his neck, pluckin’ the cigarette out from between his teeth enough to kiss him a little, “I ain’t afraid of you or your angry voice, if that’s somethin’ you’re worried about. I’m excited actually, believe it or not.”

“Excited.” Pale quirked a smile, making you hum out a little affirmative.

“I like when you’re…” You mull over, trying to find a good word before settling on, “Authoritative.”

“You’re gonna be the fuckin’ end of me, you know that?” He groaned, thunked his head back against the wall where he was leaning on in the little employees only room in the back, “The absolute fuckin’ end. God I want to fuck you, already I’m hard for you.”

And you could feel it, could feel just how hard he was for you. He pinned your hips against his, and right at the moment when you were fully ready to make out with him and ride his thigh right there in the back room, did the first ding of the door sound, alerting you to the first customer of the day.

“I bet you are honey, but I’ve gotta go serve coffee.” You unlatch yourself from him, and he groaned loudly, playfully.

“Let me watch you walk away?” He asked with big doe eye, and you only grinned as you turned to leave the room, swaying your hips in a teasing exaggerated way.

It was mesmerizing, seeing him like this. You’d seen him in all kinds of ways – seen him at home, seen him in the concert halls, seen him preforming. But you ain’t never seen him like this. 

It was really somethin’, watching Pale work. You knew he worked hard of course, everyone knew that, everyone who took one look at him knew that. But you’d never actually seen him work, never seen him in the full swing of things like this, not like this. He was stormin’ all over the fucking place, not even realizing that he’s storming, you didn’t think. He just had that presence to him, that aura about him – that don’t fuck with me or I’ll break your legs kind of vibe.

You almost spilled your coffee a coupla’ times because of it.

Well maybe you almost spilled your coffee a coupla’ time’s because of the way he had taken off his fancy silk shirt and suit jacket, revealing a black tank top underneath that showed off his arms so nice and good that you wanted to reach through the order window and give his biceps a squeeze.

You’d seen him in the kitchen before of course, he cooked all the fuckin’ time for you at home, but this was different. Here it was like his need to show off was multiplied ten times, and damn, did he. Smoking cigarette after cigarette through the breakfast rush, workin’ hard as he could to get all the orders just right, just perfect.

You knew he knew he wasn’t no Fish, not really, and when Fish came back to work tomorrow you were sure there’d be folks who’d be thrilled – because let’s face it, even Pale’s best just wasn’t what some of these regulars were used to but damn, his best was pretty good.

It was almost surreal, walkin’ up to the order window and seein’ your man on the other side. He’d only be in the kitchen for breakfast and you knew that, knew he’d be going back to the office once the rush was over and the cook could take full control of the kitchen again. But for now, you and a couple of the other waitresses walked up to the counter when he dinged the little bell, and it put a real big smile on your face to see Pale there.

“Alright I gotta Adam and Eve on a log for table ten and an Adam and Eve on a wrecked raft for table seven and don’t you dare fuckin’ mix ‘em up.” He snapped at the kid, Jess, who worked the morning shifts with you sometimes if she didn’t have any college classes in the morning.

Jess only rolled her eyes and grabbed the plates, careful not to mix them up, and you occupied the little space that she had freed up to pass a new order ticket to Pale. It was for one of the truck drivers who came in all the time, he only ever ate a huge breakfast in the morning, and then a big dinner real late at night, so it had to be done the right way, and you tell Pale as much.

“Hi honey, got a bean buster over at booth eleven and he’s real particular about how he likes his steak so please just, for the love of god make sure it’s rare?” You said soft enough that the trucker couldn’t hear you, not that he really would even if you shouted it out, just because of how packed the place was and all the clinking clanking clanging of everyone eating and enjoying their food.

“Black and blue comin’ up – hey,” Pale said, reaching through the window and grabbing your wrist when you slide him the ticket, pulling you a little closer and suckin’ down some nicotine as he asked, “Gimmie a kiss?”

You laugh and pluck the cigarette out from between his teeth before giving him a quick smack of your lips on his. He watched you walk away until you were officially out of his line of sight, back behind the milkshake bar makin’ egg creams.

Pale’s massive, you think. Absolutely fuckin’ huge, but there’s a sort of bull-in-the-china-shop kind of grace about it. He spent most of his time in the mornin’ doing the breakfast rush alongside the cook, the guy that worked the night shifts and who also got brought in when Fish wasn’t feelin’ too hot. You almost wanted to feel sorry for Pale, because breakfast rush was some fuckin’ nightmare sometimes, but he handled it with as much ease as Fish did, and you were impressed.

Like when some random guy – not a regular or at least not one you recognized – was yelling at that poor college kid Jess, for something that ain’t even her fault. You heard the commotion seemingly right as it happened, but so did Pale. He must have, because he was approachin’ the table cool as a cucumber, his silk shirt back on and tucked into his pleated trousers, big suit jacket makin’ his broad shoulders look even more broad.

You were almost worried that he’d start yellin’ right away, that he’d get into a fight or some shit like that. Not anything mean by it, but you knew your man, you knew your Pale. He was a hot headed kinda guy when it came to some shit, and you were fully prepared to step in if necessary.

So he surprised and impressed you when he was nothin’ but calm.

“There a problem over here?” He asked, hands on his hips just in that way that men in charge liked to stand.

And boy, was your man a man in charge.

The guy takes one look at Pale, and it’s like he can see his whole fucking life flash before his eyes. He immediately regrets raising his voice at Jess, immediately regrets causing a scene at all, and Pale gives him good reason to. He could so easily pick the guy up and physically throw him out of the diner, could snap him in two if he wanted.

You have to bite your lip at the thought, and Pale caught that look of yours from the corner of his eye, smirked a little to himself, too smug about how wet he makes you. But fuck, you’re wet, and it’s all you can do to just stand there and pour some coffee and force yourself not to whine to be fucked.

“I’m sorry I hate to complain, I really do, but there ain’t no salt on these hashbrowns, and there ain’t no salt in my shaker, I think somebody forgot to fill ‘em up or somethin’?” The guy says eventually, when he realizes that there ain’t no winning a fight against Pale, and Pale picks up the little salt shaker that’s definitely not empty, inspects it for a minute.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna have ‘em remake the whole fuckin’ thing for ya, okay? No charge no nothin’, and I’m gonna see what’s goin’ on about this here salt shit. But don’t you ever fuckin’ yell at one of the these girls again, you got that? I catch you yellin’ at any of them and I’ll serve you shit from the dumpster outside – you got that?” He stared the guy down, who gulped and nodded. “My girl (Y/N) will take real good care of ya, won’t you honey?”

Pale looked at you, beckoned you over. You went easily, and he handed you the little salt shaker that’s just about half full, the top only a little clogged.

But while he had you within reach, he pulled you a little closer, and a little closer still – and even a little closer still, until he had a handful of your ass and was kneading it in his big hand right there in front of everyone. Not that anyone was really paying attention.

“You bet, I’m real sorry we ain’t ever outta salt, here’s a new one I’ll go refill this myself.” You said breathlessly, chewing the inside of your cheek and pressing your thighs together from the feeling of Pale’s hand on your body, you’re barely able to ask, “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“Nah that’s okay, thank you really – wait can I have some coffee?” The guy, who clearly sees what’s going on, ducked his head in embarrassment for making a scene about some shit that ain’t even that big of a deal.

You poured him some coffee, and then went in the back storage room, to “fill up the salt.”

* * *

It took maybe two seconds, before Pale was comin’ in up behind you.

The storage room was small, not much to really store, when so much of the produce and meats and shit came from local suppliers around the town. Fish was real big on that, and it was something Pale appreciated the fuck outta him for – quality ingredients from local places.

But Fish wasn’t there today, and you took the opportunity of Pale’s managerial position to bend yourself over one of the big storage boxes and hike up your uniform skirt without even so much as a second glance.

“God damn you’re sexy when you work, you know that? I tell you that enough? I should, fuck remember back in the day when I would come and sit here and jerk off to you pourin’ that coffee? Fuck.” Pale’s already undoing the belt buckle of his trousers, already yanking his shirt out from where it was tucked in real nice.

“I didn’t know you jerked off!” You gasped when you felt the cool air of the storage room hit your bare ass, as Pale slid your panties down your legs to hang around your knees.

He kicked your feet apart with those fancy fuckin’ boots of his, freed his cock and rubbed the head of it through your folds which were dripping from a mix of his old come from earlier in the morning, and your fresh slick from watching him be so fucking hot.

“Of course I did, and now look, now look at the two of us, jerkin’ off together.” He slid his cock through your pussy some more before finally nudging his cock properly inside you, filling that aching emptiness that had been making you weak all morning.

“Pale it ain’t jerkin’ off if we’re together.” You couldn’t help but laugh a little, until your laughs dissolved into moans from the way he rolled his hips flush against your ass, pressed you down a little further onto the storage boxes.

“Bullshit, your pussy’s jerkin’ me off – it counts.” He grunted groaned growled in your ear as he draped himself over your back, hands bruising on your hips.

“C’mon fuck me, we gotta be fast there’s people out there waitin’ for us and shit.” You swallowed down all the drool that kept threatening to slide out of your mouth, and Pale only grunted some more as he sped his hips up, built a pace that was brutal, skin slapping hard against skin.

“They can keep waiting, god you’re so fuckin’ good, this pussy’s so good.” He breathed, “All for me, my fuckin’ cunt to have whenever I want it, you like that? You like gettin’ fucked at work like this? Maybe I should come run the place more often, let Fish’s nephew take over the one in the city more often, come and fuck you here in this little room more often.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head and your toes curled in your pretty new heels as your pussy got pounded, the thick squelch of it music to your ears. His cock was so firm inside you, so fuckin’ hard, rock hard, and it speared into you searching for your gspot. You knew he liked to milk your pleasure for as long as he could, but the two of yous really didn’t have the time to spare – so when he found it he dropped a hand to your clit and rolled that at the same time as he thrusted against your walls.

“Pale – yes honey – oh fuck yes, yes please – faster,” You gasped, your eyes flying open and your thighs shaking shaking shaking as he fit inside you so perfectly.

“Shh, shh sweetheart be good for me, be a good girl and suck.” He shoved his free hand into your mouth, gags you on his fingers while he rams into you hard and dirty, shaking the walls of the storage room and threatening to knock down the boxes and bins from the force of his thrusts.

You came together, the both of you cursing low and long as your bodies shook together, his cock still thrusting in and out of you just because he could, because he had to. But this was only a quickie, only a little stolen moment in the storage room, and when he pulls out of your cunt he stuffs those slicked up fingers back inside you, pushes all his come that starts to leak out right back into your pretty pussy, slides your panties back into place and watched hungrily as the fabric began to darken.

“Back to work.” You sighed dreamily, making him just chuckle and smack your ass a little.

And it was, back to work. Back to him showin’ off and impressing you.

* * *

It wasn’t just you who he impressed, neither. All the regulars at one point or another pulled you aside gently, like one of them, a nice elderly lady with blue hair and huge rimmed glasses, was doin’ now.

“(Y/N) sweetheart who is that man?” Her deep voice is like velvet as she holds out her mug of coffee kindly.

Stevie had been coming to the diner way before you were born, you’re sure of it. But ever since your first day, she had always been there to support you and be patient with you while you were learning the ropes. Not many people gave you that kinda kindness out there in a dog eat dog world, but Stevie came from the life of showgirls and pageants and drag queens, and she knew how far a little kindness could go when you were new at somethin’.

She didn’t do much preforming anymore, content instead to be surrounded by handsome men and live a life of quiet luxury, but still she came into the diner for a cup of coffee and to do the daily New York Times crossword on the newspaper Fish never finished.

“Which, the guy doin’ the shoutin’, or the guy gettin’ shouted at?” You teased, filling the mug up with enough room for her to daintily pour in however much cream and sugar she’s feeling in the mood for that morning.

“Shoutin’, the big guy, the one in the tank top.” She appraised the big guy from over the rim of her mug, and you grinned, your heart filling with pride.

“That’s my Pale.” You said happily, watching him bitch and shout at someone for fucking something up. You didn’t know what it was, you hadn’t really been paying attention, still too high on your own bliss from his cock.

“He new around here?” Stevie asked and you waved the idea away.

“Nah, he manages the diner in the city, the one we just opened up ‘bout a year ago or so.” You explained, making her eyebrows raise over her glasses.

“No kidding! Well next time I make a run into town I’ll be sure to stop by.” She winked, and you grinned, shook your head at her unashamed attitude. You loved and respected that about her, how someone of her age was still going strong, still getting laid.

“He’s so handsome, ain’t he?” You found yourself sighing, watching him get red-faced from shoutin’ and strikin’ up a cigarette, angrily suckin’ it down.

What a guy, you couldn’t help but think.

“Yeah, he really is. You’re a very lucky lady, (Y/N), he reminds me of the nice young men I used to meet down at Fire Island.” Stevie poured the sugar and cream into her coffee with a wistful sort of smile, making you frown the smallest bit.

“What do you mean ‘used to’, Stevie I know you’re still down there gettin’ your kicks, ain’t ya?” You asked, hoping that everything was alright.

“Oh believe me, I try.” She scoffed, “But you know how it is these days, what with…the whole thing that’s goin’ on.”

You think of Robbie, think of so many others, who would end up the same way. Your heart breaks to think of Stevie ending that way too.

“Yeah.” You say softly, with understanding, with empathy. You know, and it weighs heavy on your heart, but you put on a smile anyway, not wanting to get yourself upset, not now.

“Scary times we live in. I’m just grateful to wake up and see the sun shine another day, frankly.” Stevie brightened the mood back up, and you’re grateful for it.

“I’m grateful you do wake up, and I’m grateful you come here, and every day when you do, I’ll be here to serve you coffee, okay?” You winked, topped off the mug when she took a sip.

Just then, the little bell on the front door chimed, and you don’t bother to look over your shoulder just yet to see who it is. The breakfast rush had begun to die down, so you knew there would be a table or two open for whoever it was, depending on how many people they brought with them – and anyway you were with someone.

“Just a second!” You called out, just to make sure they didn’t feel ignored or neglected.

“Do I seat myself or what?” The woman at the door asked, and your blood ran cold, because you recognized that voice.

After just one meeting with the bitch, you recognized her voice.

Slowly, you schooled your face into a neutral expression, and turned to face her – Barbie.

She was standing there in that same fur coat, but this time there were diamonds dripping from her earlobes and hanging around her neck. She smoked a Virginia Slims just as she had the other day, and you tried your very best not to reach out and snap it in half.

Instead, you walked over to her, grabbed a menu and looked at the seating chart, and led her to a little booth by the window. Not Pale’s booth, but somewhere with a lovely view of the street.

“Are you stalking me or something?” You asked, when she sat down prim and proper, huffed and puffed and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear even though it didn’t do much on account of how fuckin’ hair-sprayed it was.

“I’m not here for you.” She said bitterly, and you sucked on your teeth.

“Well he ain’t here.” You lied, not wanting her to cause any more trouble than she already had, not wanting to stress Pale out anymore than he already was.

“Bullshit, I saw you walking together.” She blew smoke in your face, and you made a mental note that if she ordered any food, you’d spit in it before serving it to her.

“He ain’t here for you.” You clarified, not even bothering to wave away the cloud of haze that hung around your face. You had real good practice with dealing with smoke, you wouldn’t let her get the benefit of having it effect you. “You want something, I’ll get it for you, but you’re not bothering Pale.”

“Why the fuck do you keep calling him that? Everybody calls him that here.” She gritted her teeth and flicked her ash on the floor, as opposed to the ashtray that was literally right in front of her on the table.

“That’s what he introduced himself as, that’s what we call him. We respect chosen names around here.” You made a point of saying, before lifting the pot you were holding and asking, “Coffee?”

“I’ll take a mimosa.” Barbie shook her head, and you wanted to strangle her.

“We don’t have mimosas.” You said instead, and for whatever fucking reason, she’s shocked by this.

“You don’t have mimosas?” Barbie acts scandalized, and your patience for her was wearing thinner and thinner by the minute.

“Of course we fucking don’t have mimosas – look we’re not some fancy brunch bar on a tropical island like you’re used to, okay? We got coffee, tea, milkshakes, egg creams, soda, juice and water but we ain’t got mimosas.” You snapped, ready to walk away and call someone to come get rid of her.

She must have noticed, because she sighed dramatically and nodded.

“Coffee’s fine.” She said, holding out her cup.

“I know you’re not here to order anything, so please, do me a favor and just leave, okay?” You poured her coffee, and hoped that maybe she’d have some sense to cut her losses with whatever she was trying to pull.

“No I want to talk to you.” She sighed again, “I lied earlier, I came here for you, to talk to you.”

There’s honesty in her eyes, and you hate that, because you ain’t ever seen that before. You’ve only met the woman twice, but this was the first sincere expression that had crossed her face, so you find yourself pursing your lips into a straight line.

“Wait here.” You said finally, before walking to the back.

He was working on something in the office, sifting through paperwork. You didn’t know what it all was, but he was dressed up nice and normal, his stint in the kitchen finished for the day. You almost didn’t want to bother him, not with this, not with something like this, but it didn’t feel right to not tell him. 

“Pale?” You asked gently, not wanting to startle him the way you sometimes did when he was engrossed in his work.

“Yeah sweetheart?” He asked, looked up at you and patted his thigh.

You went easily, sat yourself down on his lap and tucked your head on his broad broad broad shoulder, padded jacket making him so wide, even though he don’t need the help.

“If I tell you something you gotta promise to not get mad, okay?” You didn’t know how else to say it.

“That fuckin’ guy botherin’ you again? I swear to god I’ll beat the shit outta him honey you say the fuckin’ word and I’ll – ” Pale got all riled up, and you smiled sadly because you wished it were that easy.

“It’s her, she’s here. She wants to talk to me, but hey listen – ” You cut yourself off because he was already getting ready to jostle you off his lap and go storm the fuckin’ diner to get rid of her, so you clamp your hands on his cheeks and force his head to turn towards you. “Hey, look at me. I’m going to try and talk some sense into her, woman to woman. I’m going to figure out what she wants and then I’m going to get her to leave, okay? I don’t want you comin’ out and getting all angry, please, please stay in here for me for a while.”

“I don’t – ” He shook his head, but you kissed him, real deep.

“Do you trust me?” You whispered, when you pulled away, searched his eyes. You saw panic there, and your heart broke for him.

“O’course I do.” He whispered back, chewing his lips and the inside of his cheek with those perfect crooked teeth of his.

“Then stay in here. I don’t need your blood pressure going through the roof over this bitch alright? I’ll come back here and tell you all about it when she’s gone.” You said, getting up off his lap.

“I trust you, it’s her I don’t trust.” He caught your hand in between his own bear paws, and you only smiled at him.

“She ain’t gonna tell me anything that’ll make me change my mind about you.” You promised, and with that, he let you go.

She’s still sitting there when you return, thankfully. You were mildly worried that she wouldn’t listen, and would come storming into the fuckin’ office and cause a scene like she had at the apartment. But there she was, smokin’ her Virginia Slims and drinking her coffee, grimacing at the traffic that passed by the window.

You put the coffee pot on a warmer near the kitchen, and slid into the bench seat opposite of her, crossing your hands on the table.

“Before I even let you say anything, I have to ask, why now?” You started, because you were genuinely curious.

“Why now what?” She looked at you like you had two heads, and you could see how this would resort to a screaming match, could see exactly why Pale and her spent so much time yelling.

“The fuck am I talkin’ to, a brick wall?” You grumbled, “Why now as in why are you all of a sudden interested in him again? Why, after all these years, do you suddenly give a shit? After everything you’ve done to him – ”

“Everything I did? You don’t know, you don’t even know the half of the shit he put me through.” Barbie bared her teeth at you like some feral thing, and you figured you know what, let her get it all out.

“What’d he put you through Barbara, tell me.” You gestured for her to spill.

Once you did, the floodgates were open.

“He was never home! Do you know how hard it is to raise two kids on your own? You can’t even imagine, can’t even fathom the thought of having to care for two small children all by yourself – he left me alone in the house all day every day, would come home sometimes at five or six o’clock in the mornin’ when the kids were just waking up, and he’d come home a greasy fuckin’ mess, a disgusting slob, workin’ in the kitchens all day. I wanted kids desperately and he didn’t want any, but he had them anyway and if you have kids you have to take care of them.”

She said it all so quickly and so easily, it was as if she’d complained about him a hundred thousand million times, it felt like she was reading from some sort of script, a monologue memorized inside her brain.

“Where did you work?” You asked, when she took a shaky drag of her cigarette.

“What do you mean?” She asked back, and you really were getting tired of having to repeat yourself.

“Ya know, how did you financially support the family?” You explained, like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

“What the fuck are you talking about I didn’t do any fucking work, I stayed home with the kids, that’s work enough.” She scoffed, and you bit back any comments, just shrugged.

“What else did he do to you?” You asked, and she went off.

“The drugs, god the fucking drugs. He was hopped up all the time, all the fucking time. I don’t think the kids ever saw him sober, between the coke or the booze. I would scream at him all fucking night for shit like that, when he came home like that. My god I would scream, _how could you do this to yourself? _Night after night. It was murder on my throat.”

“He always wanted to have the dirtiest sex – the kind of sex that lands you in hell, you know. I never agreed to it, never agreed to anything other than pure and simple missionary but god, even the thought of it felt so fuckin’ dirty I couldn’t stand it. He would get so mad, ask me why I even bothered if I was gonna just go clean him out. As if I needed a third fuckin’ kid to take care of!”

“You know he’s got connections to the mob? That’s why I had to go down to fuckin’ Miami and live with my parents – he’d get into some fights with some guys at a bar for makin’ fun of little Robbie, and the next goddamn thing I know, there’s some guys at my door knockin’ sayin’ if Jimmy don’t leave them alone, they’ll kill me and the kids! We almost had to go into witness fuckin’ protection!”

“He was a lousy gift giver, always fucked something up. If I wanted a white coat he’d get me black, if the kids wanted a train he’d get them a car, it was a mess. It was like he didn’t fucking know us at all – probably because he was never home. It got to the point where we just asked for money to buy ourselves shit because we couldn’t count on him to deliver anything right.”

“All we ever did was yell. He’d come home and he wouldn’t listen to me so I’d yell to make him hear me, and he still wouldn’t listen. It was fucking ridiculous. So yes, I left him, because I couldn’t take it anymore, and I thought he was going down a path that was going to put our kids in danger. But now, now he’s turning his life around. He’s got a real good job with the Philharmonic, making good money to support the family, and maybe we can have another try.”

After her speech, you’re dumbfounded. You’re stunned, how a woman could be so callous, so cruel to someone who obviously cared about her so much. Or at least, cared once upon a time.

You almost don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything for a real long time.

Maybe it was only a couple seconds, or maybe it was an hour, or maybe it was a minute, you didn’t know.

But eventually, eventually you furrow your brow and take a deep sigh, and you don’t even bother to look at her because you don’t want to see her face, it’ll make you sick.

“So, let me get this straight. You left him because he worked long and hard hours to provide for you and his children, who are all so ungrateful that you scream at him when he gets a minute to himself, and he sometimes got in trouble for defending his gay brother. You left him because you couldn’t take not being waited on hand and foot, even though he _did _do that for you, gave you whatever you wanted, but it wasn’t good enough. And now you’re back because you hear he’s got more money you want to leech out of him, in addition to the money he already sends you to keep you afloat – which is much kinder than I would have done for you if it were me. Did I miss anything?”

And now it was her turn to be stunned shocked scandalized. She was expecting you to side with her, but if anything, it only turned you against her more. You wanted nothing to do with this woman, nothing at all.

“You’re a real cunt, you know that?” Barbie asked, more of a rhetorical question.

“Did I miss anything?” You repeated, and she slumped back in her chair, all the answer you needed. “Let me tell you something about Pale.”

“I don’t want to hear – ” She shook her head but you cut her off with a steely glare.

“No, it’s my turn to talk, your turn to listen.” You snapped, loud enough for the people around you to turn their head, but not loud enough to hold anyone else’s attention.

Barbie looked like she’d never been interrupted like that before, and you wondered if maybe she hadn’t.

“The first time we ever met, he was coked up out of his mind, and fucked me so hard I couldn’t walk the next day, and you know what? I cooked him breakfast the next morning, and he almost cried about it, because he couldn’t remember the last time anybody, ever cooked for him.” You said, and you thought to yourself that if you smoked, you’d be in desperate need for a cigarette right now.

“And I thought to myself, somebody this big and important – you could tell he’s important, you know? Could tell with the way he dresses and walks and talks, he acts like he owns the whole wide world. That ain’t true of course, but he’s sure got the confidence for it, he owns _something. _Somebody this big and important’s gotta have someone taking care of him, someone to go home to at night, someone to love him. He’s got so much love to give, somebody’s gotta be there to take it.”

You couldn’t look at her, so you look out the window instead. You look at his shiny black car in the lot, and you remind yourself of how the first time you ever saw it, how you thought it looked like the nicest thing that’d ever been parked there.

You still think that.

“But night after night he’d go home alone, he’d leave the apartment alone, he’d eat and sleep alone. I could tell, I saw since my apartment’s right across that little street there. He’s big and brash and loud, but he’s gotta be lonely. A person can’t be all by themselves for that long and not get lonely. He’s a solver, Pale is. He solves everyone’s problems. You got a problem, you call Pale. Whether it’s the restaurant he managed before meetin’ me, or problems of friends, problems of family, he solved them. Nobody ever did anything for Pale, nobody was ever a solver for Pale.”

“What’d he solve for you?” Barbie asked, and for once, there was no malice in her voice.

“I was lonely too.” You said simply, toying with the little thing of wrapped silverware there at the placemat in front of you. “I didn’t think there was anybody out there for me, and that was okay, for a time. I never got my chance at settling down with a white picket fence, two kids and a dog in the yard, and that was okay too. But I would come home late at night all by myself, and so would he, and I would think you know, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be alone together.”

You thought back to those first nights, those first times when he would talk to you out of his fucking mind, would hold you too close and cry in your hair.

“But god, once I started knowing him, I mean _really _knowing him, it was like I ain’t ever met anyone like that before. Someone that vulnerable and that insightful and that wise, all wrapped up in a man who could come crashing through the door and nearly take it off its hinges because he missed me.”

“He had so much love to give, so much love that he didn’t know where to put it. He didn’t have a place for it all to go, and it was spilling outta his heart like a leaky faucet. He kept stashing it in the wrong places, kept trusting the wrong people with it, and he kept getting hurt. He’s still hurt.”

“And me? Well I thought I was all dried up from love. I absorbed all his emotions like a sponge, and that shocked him, I don’t think he’d ever had someone who would take him so steadily like that. I wanted so badly to give him everything, even though I didn’t have much to give at all. But I gave him what I had, and I took all that he couldn’t handle, and in the end, we fell in love.”

You don’t know how or why, you decided to say all that. But it needed to be said, needed to be put out there into the world. Those words needed to leave your lips. You didn’t like talking about yourself too often, but it needed to be said.

Barbie stubbed out her cigarette then, scoffed to herself.

“Jimmy doesn’t do love.” She shook her head, and for the first time you see the age in her face, the toll that this relationship had taken on her.

You don’t pity her for it, but you do recognize it.

“Pale loves more strongly than anybody I’ve ever known.” You said softly truthfully genuinely, “He just has his own way of showing it. It’s not his fault you never bothered to find out.”

Barbie stood up then, dropped some money on the table for the coffee, and slung her purse over her shoulder.

“How does it feel, being the other woman?” She asked, looking down on you physically and metaphorically, from her spot standing by the table.

“I wouldn’t know.” You said simply.

She didn’t say anything else, just turned around and walked away, out the diner and into her car and off to who knew where.

You’re shaking, and you didn’t know why. Maybe it was the confrontation, maybe it was the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders just then. You didn’t know. You wanted Pale, wanted to be near him, wanted to pour love down his throat like an unending fountain, wanted to make up for all the lost time he spent with that woman. 

You went to him, back to the little office where he resumed his paperwork.

His head snapped up when you opened the door, and he stood up quickly, rushed to you.

“Is she gone?” He asked, and suddenly he reminded you of the terrified man crashing into your apartment, eyes too wide and blown black from coke in the grief of his brother.

He wasn’t high, hadn’t yet snorted up a bump, but you opened your arms for him anyway, cradled his head close to your chest anyway.

“She’s gone.” You confirmed, kissed his temple.

“What did she say?” He asked like he was afraid to ask, asked like he was preparing himself for the worst, for your rejection of him.

“I told you, nothin’ that changed my mind about you.” You assured and reassured and reassured him again, “If anything, I think I love you more. I’m sorry you had to deal with her for so long – are still having to deal with her.”

“I’m not, not really. I only deal with you, but I like dealing with you.” He shook his head, looked up at you with those eyes of his, sad nervous brown eyes, that were slowly slowly slowly becoming the cheeky teasing Pale you knew.

“Yeah?” You egged him on, tugged on one of his big ears.

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ brat and a half, but you’re mine.” He pinched your nose, gave your face a shake and smacked your ass, willing his hands not to shake.

“Love you.” You said softly then, cupping his cheek tenderly, carefully.

“I know.” He whispered into your palm, “What say you and me take the rest of the day off, Jess said she’d cover for you.”

You laughed and shimmied away from him and his wandering grabbing hands, smacked at his fingers when they went to reach for your ass.

“Pale you can’t just ditch work.” You rolled your eyes – when the door opened.

“He’s not.” Your boss popped his head in, sitcom timing in full effect.

Pale had wrangled you into his arms, and wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon, not even in the face of your boss, of his business partner. You tried not to be embarrassed with the way Pale was hugging you, but you loved being hugged by him so much that it didn’t matter.

“Hey Fish, you feelin’ any better?” You smiled at your old friend.

“Yeah, needed to get out of the house. Had to make sure the diner didn’t burn down to the ground.” Fish chuckled in that dry laugh of his.

“Ha ha.” Pale rolled his eyes then, rested his head against your stomach as your hand came up to his hair and he asked, “Is it okay if we go?”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Fish winked at him, making you groan – he was like your grandpa, you didn’t need that sort of comment.

“_Bye_.” You said with a laugh, you and Pale detangling enough to only wrap yourselves up in one another as you walked back home.

* * *

The walk back was nice enough, for being in the afternoon. Everyone was on their lunch breaks, so the streets were busy. You couldn’t help but think Pale’d be pissed if he had to drive, he’d be stuck in the lunch rush.

You don’t say much, on the way back. Mostly content to listening to Pale ramble on and on about the differences between this diner and the one in the city. It was impressive how he noticed everything, every little detail. You still hadn’t been to the diner in the city, maybe one of these days when you both weren’t so busy you’d make him take you.

You walk arm in arm, on the way back. Normally you’d hold hands but you wanted to be closer to him, and he let you, only complained a little about it. He still offered you his jacket, and this time you took it.

You wore it all the way up to the front door of the apartment complex, where Barbie was waiting inside the lobby.

Pale came to a halt, just outside the big glass door.

“Fuck.” He hissed, and your heart sunk.

“I’m sorry I thought she’d leave us alone now.” You sighed, bracing yourself for the worse, wondering briefly if she’d go so far as to shoot you.

Pale opens the door for you, and the two of you step into the lobby, and Barbie doesn’t say a word.

She hasn’t changed or anything, looked exactly the same as you had last seen her only an hour ago at the diner, but now she’s holding something. A thick manilla folder, unmarked on the outside. There are some dents and bends in the cream colored cardstock, and her hands clench around it a few times before finally shoving it in Pale’s direction.

“Is this…” He swallowed hard, taking the folder from her. You held your breath, because you _thought _you knew what it was, but you weren’t sure, couldn’t be sure until he opened it. But Pale knew, Pale knew and he frowned. “Barbie what kind of fucking game are you playing.”

“Three’s a crowd.” Is all Barbie said, before passively brushing past him, shoulder checking you as she went.

The two of yous watched her go without a word, and he looked to you, before looking down at the folder.

“Holy shit.” You said softly, when the divorce papers came into view, when the dotted lines have been signed by fresh ink, a signature recently given. “…Is that?”

“Let’s go up.” Pale’s hands _were _shaking now, and you know he wanted to get high.

Or maybe, maybe with this feeling, he already was.

He was all over you, the moment the door to his apartment closed. He dropped the folder on the kitchen counter, scooped you up and held you tight as he walked you through the lavish space, back into the bedroom. He couldn’t stop smiling, wouldn’t stop grinning, and you found yourself smiling real big with him.

“Let me get a look at you?” He asked as he dropped you onto the bed, makin’ you bounce bounce bounce on the mattress.

You laughed and smiled and nodded as he worked the buttons of your uniform dress open, as he shuffled it over your body, freeing your skin to him. He was drawn to it like a moth to a flame, and pressed open mouthed kisses all across your collarbones and the flesh of your stomach.

“You can look at me for as long as you’d like, you know.” Your hand buried itself in his hair, as he kissed lower and lower and lower, until he was shimmying down your panties and diving into your pussy.

He ate you out like he was starving for it, kissing and sucking marks onto the skin of your inner thigh. Hs lips and tongue paid all their attention to your clit, hard sucks that were designed to get you to come down his throat as quickly as possible.

You didn’t hold yourself back, not one bit, let yourself get lost in the eager pleasure Pale gave you. You were coming into his mouth, gushing all over his chin and fingers in mere minutes. He was going to fuck you later, you both knew that, but this, you didn’t know what this was. Maybe it was a thank you, maybe it was just a quickie, maybe maybe maybe. You didn’t know, but you were glad for it, for the orgasm that washed over your spine.

“What’d she mean – three’s a crowd?” Pale asked, climbing up your body and wiping his chin on the back of his hand, kissing your cheek your neck your tits.

“I don’t know.” You said honestly, because you didn’t. “What’s that old saying? Two’s company but three’s a crowd?”

“I like that.” Pale said softly, taking your hand in his, “The two of us.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you. And you looked right back. You turned to your side, faced him and traced the shell of his big ear with the tip of your pleasure weak finger, smiled at how he was still dressed in his fancy suit, his silk shirt and tie, even those boots of his. He had been in such a rush to make you feel good, to taste you, that he hadn’t even shucked his own uniform for the day.

He looked at you, and you looked right back. And hadn’t that always been it? Hadn’t it always been the two of yous, always just you two, together out there in the world, braving it and facing it every day.

“As long as you’d like.” You said with a smile.

“Careful sweetheart, I might just ask you for forever.” Pale said, voice just above a whisper, meaning it, meaning every word.

“I’d say yes if you did.” You replied.

And when he looked at you, and you looked at him, you knew he knew that you meant it too.

And the two of you let yourself get lost in each other’s eyes, glad to know that there was one less obstacle in the way of forever. Just you two, the two of yous, two’s company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end :)


End file.
